


Catalyst

by Lmere



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, British Female Character, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Fluff, Gen, Gun Violence, Guns, Pizza, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Psychological Torture, Steve Rogers gets it wrong, Strong Female Characters, Torture, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-04-03 23:31:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 48,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4118697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lmere/pseuds/Lmere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sergeant James Buchannan Barnes died. He was wiped from the surface of the Earth, erased, destroyed, replaced. And now he's starting to come back. He's starting to remember. But if he's going to live again, he needs something to help push him in the right direction. If he's going to find his way, he needs something to make him take the first step. He needs a catalyst.<br/>But this catalyst ends up causing a lot more reactions than initially expected and Bucky isn't alone...<br/>(NOW EDITED)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 12/06

I knew a panic attack when I saw one. I should; I'd seen enough of them at work. And it always started with the eyes. Darting around, searching desperately for somewhere safe, when there was no safety to be seen. Not in their minds anyway.  
            When I saw that characteristic movement, the frantic searching, I should have kept walking. He would have dealt with it. He would have survived. But for too long I'd been dragging people out of the holes they found themselves in. So I didn't think, didn't hesitate. Instead, I just took a quick sidestep to stand before him on the crowded pavement. People jostled us as they passed, scowling at the obstruction. His eyes flashed at the contact, but his body remained stiff and immobile, frozen by the terror I could see in his face.  
            "It's okay, just look at me, look at me. It's okay, you're safe, look at me." My tone soothing, and I stayed a foot away from him as the crowd began to part around the obstruction we were causing. I barely knew what I was saying; all I wanted to do was capture his attention, but his blue eyes continued to flit around, never settling on me for more than a second. So I continued to talk in the same low voice I would use if ever confronted with a wild animal, because with his darting eyes, that was exactly what he reminded me of.  
            "There's no-one there, you're safe, just look at me, you're okay, look at me, it's alright, look at me." And slowly, he did, those blue eyes slowing to fix on my steady gaze.  
            "That's it, look at me, just look at me, you're alright." I had to get him off the crowded street, and my eyes flickered away from his to an alley only a few steps away. I waited, still talking, as I watch the crowd for a gap, an opportunity, and when it came, mere seconds later, I took it. Still talking, I stretched out my left hand towards his right side, not touching him, but pressing gently on his space. It worked, and together we shuffled across and off the street, into the shadows. But I lost his eyes as we moved, and his breath quickened into desperate gasps as we left the sunlight.  
            "It's alright, it's alright. Just breathe. Look at me, just breathe. In." I took a deep breath in through my nose, exaggerating the movement with my shoulders. "Out." I blew it out through my mouth. "Come on, it's okay, breathe with me. In." I sucked in a breath and felt a thrill of triumph as his shoulders moved with mine. "And out. That's it. In... Out." He did it, his wild panting evening out into long steadier breaths, though his eyes didn't return to mine. They swept left and right, searching the space around us, but they were calmer now, more controlled.  
            "Alright. In. Out. Easy." I examined his face as he continued to breathe. His jaw was hidden beneath the rough beginnings of a dark beard, and the upper half of his face was cast into shadow by a dark baseball cap, yet his blue eyes still seen to shine out of the gloom. His dark hair was fairly long, and pushed back behind his ears.  
            "Are you okay?" I asked gently, after a few minutes. He nodded, though shakily, and the left side of his jacket twisted as if he'd clenched his fist around the fabric within the pocket.  
            "How did you do that?" his voice was unsteady, and slightly accented, though much subtler than my own.  
            "I work with veterans," I told him. "A lot of them have panic attacks." His eyes continued to scan left to right to left to right, skipping past my face. "What's your name?" The sharp blue gaze snapped to my face as he stiffened, drawing back. "Okay, okay, okay, easy. Doesn't matter. You don't have to tell me anything, alright? Just keep breathing," I reassured him, and he stopped retreating, though he didn't relax.  
            "I have to go," he said, looking away. I pulled back a little, and nodded.  
            "Okay, that's okay." He shuffled sideways before turning away. "Hey," I called after him, and he paused. "I'll be here tomorrow, same time. If you wanted to talk... or..." He held his position for a moment, then turned away, and was gone.

 

The next day, I left the VA branch at lunchtime and walked my usual route to the small cafe where I often bought lunch. It was a crisp autumn day, with the sun shining down through straggly clouds, and an occasional gust of wind.  
            The alley was darker than the streets, but sheltered from the wind, and I stood with my back to one of the red brick walls, leaning against it as I waited, alternating between watching the street and staring down at my feet. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Twenty. Half an hour. And still I stood there, immobile, the chill from the bricks at my back seeping through my skin. After forty-five minutes, I finally stood upright, my knees cracking, took one last sweeping look at the street, and walked away, trying to squash the little pocket of disappointment in my chest. People couldn't be helped unless they wanted to be. All I could do was hold out a hand, and hope that he would take it.  
 

I sat in on Sam's talk that afternoon. Technically, it was my afternoon off, but it was well-worth sticking around for an hour to listen to him. He never said the same thing twice, yet everything that came out of his mouth was somehow right. It was a skill that I'd never had; the ability to know what to say to make something better, without lying through his teeth. Whenever I ended up doing one of the larger talk, I always felt like my words were so much weaker than his, full of clichés and avoidances. I was better one-on-one, but Sam shone before the group. He spoke words of hope and courage, without ever shying away from the difficulties or the ugliness of life.  
            And I knew that I wasn't going to give up.

 

The next day was cloudier, and I shivered in the chill wind as I waited in the alley. For a second, the crowd opened up, and I thought I saw a vaguely familiar face on the other side of the street, but as I straightened up, the crowd closed up again, and though I looked left and right, he was gone. Or maybe he was never there. But I took it as hope.

 

On the fourth day, I went into work and my heart warmed when I realised I was scheduled to spend the morning with Joey. It was with a slight smile on my face that I climbed the stairs and knocked softly on the door of his room before entering. He was sitting in his favourite chair by the window, looking out across the large garden area at the back of the building. As I poked my head round the door, he looked round and whistled softly at me.  
            "Hi, Joey," I said softly, as I walked across the room and knelt before him. He reach out a strong hand and I grasped it with my own. "How are you?" He fixed me with a very stern gaze and let out a long, complex whistle. I grimaced.  
            "I know. I haven't been to see you in a while, but I have to see the others too." He made a face and I laughed. "What do you want to do today Joe?" He whistled again, loud and tuneful as any bird. I laughed again. "Music? Why do I ask?" I stood, my knees clicking, and walked over to the iPod dock on the chest of drawers. "What do you want to listen to?" I asked over my shoulder, but he merely shrugged, so I just continued the playlist that was already loaded. The music filled the air, a soft lilting track that I thought I recognised from a movie soundtrack, though I couldn't place which one. Wandering the room, I paused at the half completed jigsaw, my fingers brushing over the edge of the table as my eyes skimmed the picture of a large field, with a horse and plough on one side, and a tractor on the other. Joey clicked his tongue from behind me, and I glanced round. He chirruped at me and waved a hand over.  
            "You want to do some more?" He hummed in ascent, and I picked up the table, stretching my arms out to grasp the side before shuffling it over to the window and depositing it in front of the chairs. Joey leaned forwards at once, his sharp eyes darting over the partially done puzzle as I took the box with the other pieces and put it on my lap as I sat beside him. The soft music flowed around us as we sat and fitted more pieces together. I was gazing out of the window, lost in my own thoughts, when Joey's whistling brought me back, and I tilted my head to the side, listening. He joined flawlessly with the music, hitting every note perfectly for a solid minute before falling silent. I smiled as I listened, recognising the music, and nodded as he went quiet.  
            "Lord of the Rings," I confirmed. "I liked those movies. Cried a bit at the end." I was examining another piece, my eyes down, when I suddenly felt a light touch on my face and started, looking up. Joey was staring at me, his face stricken as he rubbed his thumb gently under my eye. I smiled reassuringly at him. "It's okay Joey, I'm not crying now." He whistled sadly, and left his hand on my face for another moment before removing it, and resumed humming along to the music. I didn't return to the puzzle, but again lifted my eyes to the window, looking out, past the gardens, towards the city. Was he out there somewhere? A hand brushed against mine where I'd left it sitting in the box.  
            "Sorry," I murmured, shifting it out of the way without looking round. But the gentle touch came again, and I glanced over. Joey pointed at me, then the iPod, then whistled again. "You want me to sing?" I raised an eyebrow sceptically. "I don't think you do Joey. I'm a terrible singer." But he whined softly, his eyes pleading, and I folded. With a sigh, I cocked my head sideways, listening, and was surprised to find that I actually knew the song. Blushing slightly, I looked down, then threw myself into it, careful to keep my voice quiet so I didn't disturb anyone else as I warbled along, smiling in embarrassment as my voice cracked and wavered. I didn't look up at him as I sang, but continued with the jigsaw puzzle, the words seeping up from memory. I'd fallen silent when the door opened and Liz, another girl who worked at the VA, poked her head inside, grinning.  
            "Beth, why are you torturing cats in here?" she smirked. Joey glared over, and let out a very loud angry whistle. Wincing, Liz retreated hastily, but I laughed, shaking my head. Joey turned back to me, very serious, and placed a hand over his heart, bowing slightly. I smiled back at him.  
            "You're welcome," I murmured, "but I did warn you." Eyes twinkling, he turned back to the puzzle and took over, humming softly as he fitted another piece into the puzzle.  
 

We managed to fill in most of the sky before I had to go, and I left him reluctantly, glancing back as I reached the door. He was still pouring over the puzzle, whistling softly to himself.  
            The alley was just as shadowed as ever that day, but the sun's warmth was unrivalled by any wind, so I was fairly comfortable as I stood, waiting, watching the people and the world go past. It was after about ten minutes that I saw him. He was standing on the other side of the street, half hidden behind a building, his face shadowed by the same dark cap. But it was him. I held his gaze for several seconds, so he would know that I'd seen him, then looked away, staring down at my feet, waiting, hoping.  
            I counted in my head, and after seventy five seconds, a figure stopped at the entrance to the alley, a few feet away. Cautiously, I looked up. He was hunched over, hands in his pockets, head ducked down as his gaze flicked from me to the bustling street.  
            "Hi," I said, very softly. His eyes narrowed slightly as they snapped to mine, then scanned around him again as he rocked his weight between his feet. He didn't seem to like being still, and looked ready to run at any moment. "Do you want to go for a walk?" I asked. He hesitated, those blue eyes flicking to mine again, then he nodded slowly. I didn't comment, but pushed away from the wall and walked carefully over to meet him, then stepped out onto the street.  
            For the most part, I led him along, taking corners on instinct or habit, with no destination in mind, though occasionally he would veer off-course, taking a sharp turn for no apparent reason. I followed him without question whenever he did this, and after a while, realised that I could once again recognise the streets. I stopped, opening the gate into a small park which I sometimes walked around with the veterans. He followed me in, eyes darting around the green space, and we walked along one of the paths. For several minutes I didn't speak, letting my gaze drift over the trees and the lake.  
            "I like coming here in summer," I said eventually, keeping my voice low and quiet. "The grass grows out under the trees, and it's full of flowers. Or weeds, depending on which way you look at it. But they cut it back at the start of autumn." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him glance across at the trees.  
            "It's colourful," he murmured, and I looked across at the splashes of red and gold.  
            "Yeah. It is." Our path had turned and begun to circle the lake before he spoke again.  
            "You came back." It wasn't exactly a question, but I answered anyway.  
            "Yes. I said I would."  
            "More than once," He clarified. I shrugged and made a non-committal noise I'd picked up from Joey in the back of my throat. "Why?" I hesitated, looking away across the water as I considered my answer.  
            "I don't know," I said eventually. "Maybe because I thought you looked like you wanted to talk. Maybe I'm just used to trying to help people."  
            "Maybe I don't need help." I didn't look round at him.  
            "Maybe you don't," I agreed. "But you're here." He was silent for a second.  
            "Your accent... you're from England?" I sighed internally, but accepted the change of topic.  
            "Yes. I moved here about a year and a half ago," I told him, but bit down the question I wanted to ask in return. I had a feeling that it would just send him running. So we walked in silence for another few minutes.  
            "You work with veterans?" I glanced over at him, surprised that he had remembered.  
            "Yes, that's right."  
            "What's it like?" he asked. I paused, unsure of how to begin.  
            "It's challenging," I said slowly, "but also very rewarding. It's a little patchy; some days are amazing, others are really tough. But I enjoy it. It makes me feel like I'm doing something good, that I'm actually helping people."  
            "What do you do?"  
            "Well, it varies," I began, "but basically I do anything that needs to be done. I work in the recovery centre, so I spend a lot of time with our permanent residents. I read them the newspaper, or sit and talk with them, though some prefer just to listen. Sometimes I give group talks, for anyone who wants to come, but I'm not as good as some of the others, so I don't do that very often. I help cook if we're doing a big meal. I clean if it needs to be done." I shrugged. "Every day is different."  
            "What did you do this morning?" he asked, and I couldn't help smiling a little as I remembered.  
            "I spent the morning with Joey," I told him. "Joey is one of our more permanent residents."  
            "But he could leave if he wanted to?" he cut across me.  
            "Yes," I said, very seriously. This meant something to him, I could tell from the sudden stillness of his eyes, and tensing of his shoulders. "Anyone who stays with us is there because they want to be. They can leave at any time. And Joey has, once or twice. Just walked out the front door, sometimes for a few hours, sometimes for a few days. But he comes back," I paused, but he didn't say anything, so I continued with the original point.  
            "Joey is..." I sighed, unsure of how to phrase it. "He doesn't talk. There's nothing wrong with him; he can make noises. He'll whistle and make any sound imaginable, and he can do everything for himself, but he just doesn't talk. If we get one word out of him, it's a good month. But he's amazing, and really sweet, and a great guy." I sighed. "So I sat with him this morning, and we listened to music, and did some of a jigsaw puzzle. He made me sing." I shook my head at the memory. "One of the others girls thought we were torturing cats. I don't blame her really, it's quite an accurate analogy. But Joey wanted me to, so..." I shrugged. I glanced sideways at him, then threw caution to the winds. "What did you do this morning?" I asked. He froze for a second, his stride faltering. I half-expected him to bolt, but he didn't, and instead kept walking. I waited.  
            "I walked around a bit," he said shiftily, and I had to look away to hide my smile of triumph. I opened my mouth again, but reconsidered, and swallowed the question back, raising my eyes to the gate that was fast approaching.  
            "You should stop by the VA sometime," I said. He made a non-committal noise to rival mine, and said nothing. I'd stepped through the gate and taken two steps alone the pavement before realising that he wasn't beside me. Stopping, I looked back, watching as his eyes scanned round us.  
            "I have to go," he said, not meeting my gaze as he took a step backwards. I nodded, watching him retreat.  
            "I'll be there again. Same time," I said. He hesitated, then took a few more steps back, and give a small nod. But I gave one last push before he could leave. "What's your name?" I called out, but he just shook his head again, and turned, walking away quickly. I watched him go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for any mistakes, which are 100% my own as this is un-beta'd. (I am looking for a beta, so if you're interested, drop me a note in the comments.)  
> One thing - The sections concerning the VA are not accurate. For this I apologise unreservedly to everyone and anyone that I just majorly p***ed off. I took extreme liberties to try and make this work, so sorry again.  
> My thanks to everyone who worked on the MCU to bring us this wonderful world and characters. I claim no credit for your brilliance.  
> I can't promise quick updates, but there is more coming, so I hope to see you all again soon. In the meantime, feel free to leave any comments, good, bad, or otherwise.


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 17/06  
> Previously: Beth stops in the middle of a crowded street to try and help a stranger and spends some time with one of the residents, Joey.

"And afterwards? When you got home?" Chewing, I thought back.  
            "Umm, I made a pasta bake for one of my neighbours who broke her leg a couple of weeks ago, and took it round for her. Then I watched a film, The Town." I glanced sideways without much hope and he shrugged a little. I rolled my eyes. I had yet to mention a film that he'd seen. "It was about a group of guys from Boston who robbed banks, Ben Affleck, Jeremy Renner."  
            "Was it good?" I considered.  
            "It's not going to be one of my favourites, but I'll probably watch it again someday," I said, holding out the bag towards him. But he shook his head. "Oh go on," I pleaded.  
            "Not hungry," he said firmly, and I sighed as I fished out another piece of sandwich, eyeing his thin face as I did so. Taking a bite, I watched his eyes roving around as we walked. He was never still, never relaxed. Always watching for something. I looked away.  
            For nearly two weeks I'd been dancing around him, and though I was still cautious with my words, I refused to give up. So I still questioned him gently, probing for any information he would give me. Sometimes he would answer, though the words were often evasions rather than a straight reply. But other times he would tense up, or even walk away, disappearing before I could call him back. I did my best to reassure him, repeating over and over that he didn't have to tell me anything, but he would still scarper, occasionally for no reason at all. The first time I walked with him to the cafe and went to buy lunch, he'd refused to come in, preferring to wait outside. But when I come out and looked around, he was nowhere to be seen. I was learning to expect it. He was unpredictable. And I'd never seen him eat a thing. So I sighed to myself as I munched through the rest of my sandwich and we walked around the lake in the park.  
            "What are you going to do this afternoon?" I asked, carefully not looking at him. This sort of question was normally safe; it was the more personal inquiries that made him run. He shrugged again, the movement catching in my peripheral vision. "You could come by the VA, meet Joey and the guys," I suggested innocently. His face twitched. It was almost a routine between us now, I always made a point to invite him to the VA. He would either ignore it, or refuse, and I would normally let it go, but not today, I decided. "You  _are_  military," I told him with a slight smirk. Though I was careful with what I said, I refused to mollycoddle him. His head whipped round and he stared at me with wide eyes, taken aback. My mouth pulled up even further.  
            " _What_?" But he hadn't pulled back, so I felt safe enough to chuckle and shrug.  
            "I can tell. There's something about you, just like all the other guys." It was perfectly true. After working with veterans for more than a year, I'd learnt how to spot them, though I couldn't explain how. They just seemed to share a way of moving, like they were ready for something to happen, even after they'd stopped expecting it. Not that the man beside me had left the expectation phase. He looked away, though his face held its startled expression. Grinning, I shook my head and looked the other way, out across the water, then my smile faded.  
            "What was it like for you?" The silence was so complete that for a second I was sure that I'd made him flee, but when I turned my head, I found he was still there, his footsteps so in time with mine that I couldn't hear them. He was staring straight ahead.  
            "I don't know," he said, very quietly. I nodded to myself. Memory loss. Not entirely unexpected. I wasn't sure what was worse, watching the veterans try and find their memories, or trying to deal with it when they did. Our brains didn't block out the past without reason I thought to myself, thinking back to the scraps of secondary school that I could recall. We were both quiet as we finished the lap of the lake and wandered along the street towards the VA. The man walking beside me suddenly shook himself.  
            "What about you? What are you doing this afternoon?"  
            "Joey," I replied simply, looking up towards the building growing larger with every step. "We've nearly finished the jigsaw puzzle. We'll have to try and find him a new one. He gets grumpy if we give him the same one again." I sighed softly. " I'm with him again tomorrow morning, I'll have to rummage through the cupboards, see if I can find another one." I rambled on, as was my habit with him. I filled most of the silences. But he didn't seem to even be listening this time. He chewed on his lip as we came to a stop outside the VA, then glanced up, as if surprised that we were here already. He opened his mouth, but I beat him to it.  
            "I have to go." He blinked, then smirked slightly, though it wasn't a true smile. I'd never seen him smile, or laugh. I gazed at him thoughtfully for a moment, then looked away quickly. He raised an eyebrow.  
            "I thought you had to go," he said snidely, and I rolled my eyes, then paused, fixing him with a considerately stare.  
            "What's your name?" I asked, keeping my vice very serious and my eyes fixed on his. This wasn't like the many other times I'd asked, and he knew it. He drew back, then glanced around, before looking back to me.  
            "I... ah..." He glanced around again, clenching his jaw, then his eyes darted back to mine. "Bucky." He said eventually.  
            "Bucky." I nodded slowly. Made up? Nickname? I wasn't sure, but I was going to take it anyway. "I'm Elizabeth." He blinked in surprise, then nodded, just as I had, before glanced around again, and taking a step back. I nodded my understanding, and climbed up the steps to the VA. When I looked back, he was walking quickly along the street. I smiled softly. Bucky.

 

I got to work fairly early the next morning, and I was walking across the reception when I glanced out of the door and saw a familiar figure on the other side of the road. I stopped, startled, and stared across at him. Bucky. What was he doing here? We only ever met at lunchtime. Frowning, I strode over and pushed the door open. He looked up, and stood utterly still, watching as I crossed over to him. He was holding a plastic bag with what looked like a box inside it, his right hand clenched tightly around the handles.  
            "Bucky?" I asked as I got closed. "Are you okay?" He nodded, avoiding my gaze and held out the plastic bag. "What's this?" I asked, taking it and peering inside.  
            "You said that the other one was going to be finished. So..." I swallowed, my vision blurring as I looked down.  
            "That's..." I cleared my throat. "That's really, really sweet of you," I said, looking up, "but you should give it to him." His eyes widened.  
            "Ah... I... what?"  
            "You should give it to him," I repeated, holding the bag back out towards him.  
            "Um... I..." He glanced over my head to the building behind me. "Okay." He took the bag back as I beamed.  
            "Come on then."  
            "Now?!" he yelped.  
            "Sure." He paused, wide eyes darting back and forth from my face to the VA.  
            "Um... okay." I lead him across the road and held the door open, waiting patiently. He hesitated, then slipped inside.  
            It was fairly quiet inside, since it was still early, but we passed a couple of people on the stairs as we climbed up. I smiled at them, but Bucky shied to the side and kept his head down. At the top of the stairs, I gestured for him to wait as I knocked on the door and poked my head inside.  
            "Hey Joey." He looked round and whistled in greeting. "Are you up for a visitor?" He raised an eyebrow at me and nodded. I shot him a reassuring smile before ducking back out again. "Come on." I said quietly to Bucky. His jaw was clenched, but he followed me inside, hovering by the door as I closed it behind us then crossed the room to lean against the window next to Joey.  
            "Joey, this is Bucky," I said, watching them size each other up. "Bucky, Joey." They continued to stare for another couple of seconds, then Bucky took a very hesitant step forwards.  
            "Hi Joey," he said quietly. "Umm. I, uh... Well. Elizabeth told me a bit about you, and uh..." Joey flashed a look at me, but I just smiled back, and he returned his sharp gaze to Bucky. "Well. I saw this and thought of you. She said you finished the last one." He put the plastic bag down on the table in front of Joey and retreated, sticking his hand back into his pocket at once. Joey threw another look at me and I nodded encouragingly. Slowly, he reached out and removed the box from the bag. For a moment, he stared down at it in silence.  
            The jigsaw was brand new, still with the plastic wrapping round the box, casting a shine over the picture on the front. It showed a very pretty cottage, with trees behind it, and a lawn and a vegetable plot in front. There was a little boy playing with a dog on the lawn and three people planting potatoes. It was beautiful, and homely, and utterly perfect.  
            Joey stared down at it for a long time, while Bucky stared just as determinately at the floor. Then Joey looked up, and whistled very softly. Bucky looked up in trepidation. Joey stared at him for a moment, then gave him the gesture of thanks he used. A hand over the heart, then offered outwards. Completely un-phased, Bucky placed his own right hand over his heart and bowed slightly back to him. I didn't smile. The emotion in my chest was beyond that. All I could do was watch in silence as Joey ever so carefully removed the plastic wrapper from the box and cracked it open. We watched in satisfied silence as he ran a hand through the pieces. Eventually, he leaned forwards and began talking them out of the box, putting them carefully down on the table. He didn't even look up as he waved a hand at Bucky, inviting him to join him. Bucky shot me a slightly alarmed look, but I nodded encouragingly, so he moved forwards and sat down beside Joey, who immediately shuffled the box across so they could share it. I couldn't take my eyes off the pair of them as Bucky very slowly reached out his right hand and began to sort through the pieces.  
It was suddenly a lot more obvious to me that he didn't take his left hand out of his pocket. It hadn't been that noticeable when we'd been walking, but now it stood out, and my eyes were drawn to the stillness on his left side. Joey whistled softly at me, and I smiled, moving over to the iPod and filling the room with music again as I joined the men as the jigsaw puzzle, sitting on the other side of the table and watching them sort through the gleaming pieces. Joey whistled along for a while, then looked expectantly as Bucky, who looked to me for instruction. I grinned.  
            "He wants you to sing," I said, having had a lot of practise translating from 'Joey' to 'English'. Bucky looked alarmed, shaking his head.  
            "I don't know it," he said. I laughed, but stopped quickly as Joey turned to me instead.  
            "Oh no, Joey, no. Seriously, I..." But his eyes were so expectant, that I caved almost at once. Most unfortunately, I did know the song, but I kept my head down, refusing to look at either of them as I finished it off. Luckily, it was already near the end. Joey took over after that, whistling along perfectly to snippets of every single song that came on, as they worked around the edges of the puzzle.  
            Far too soon, it was time for me to get back to work, and with a quick glance at Bucky, I let him rise first, and say a hesitant goodbye. Joey watched him with something like regret, then stuck out his hand. Taken aback, but looking rather pleased, Bucky shook it.  
            "Come back." I froze in shock at the rough, hoarse voice, but Bucky didn't stumble, nodding gravely down at Joey.  
            "I will," he replied, and his eyes flashed to me as he said it. I rose and lead him out the door, shutting it gently behind us. Bucky was very quiet as I lead him down the stairs and out the door, pausing on the steps as he looked back up at the building before turning his eyes to me.  
            "I... thank you," he said earnestly, and I smiled.  
            "Come back." The first true smile I'd seen him give lit up his face, and it was like looking at a different man.  
            "I will," he repeated, then, still smiling, turned and walked away. I wanted to punch the air with triumph, but restrained myself. But I couldn't stop grinning for the rest of the afternoon.

 

Bucky didn't come back the next day. I kept glancing out the windows, hoping to see his figure on the pavement, but he wasn't there. I went out for a walk at lunch time, waiting by our alley, but he didn't come. I was disappointed, but it was the talk from the other girls that troubled me most. Joey was waiting. Apparently he'd done nothing but sit in his chair all day, and when Liz had suggested that they continue with the new jigsaw puzzle, he'd hissed angrily at her. I went up to see him before leaving in the evening. He let out a stream of noises as I crossed the room to him, and I shook my head sadly.  
            "I know Joey. I know. But maybe tomorrow." He huffed, and didn't let out another sound. The ray of hope that had kindled in my chest after the previous day was much diminished when I left.  
 

I tossed and turned that night, unable to stop thinking about Bucky. But the only conclusion I came to was one I'd know all along. I could only help him if he would accept it.

 

Preoccupied, I kept my eyes on the pavement as I walked to work the next morning, and hardly noticed the people moving around me. Until I realised that one of them was keeping pace on my left side. I glanced up and started.  
            "Bucky!" I breathed. His expression was something between a grin and a grimace.  
            "Hi," he said.  
            "You're in big trouble," I told him shaking my head. He paused, his steps faltering for a moment as he looked around wildly. "Joey," I clarified quickly, and he somehow managed to both relax and tense at the same time, his eyes falling back down, but his shoulders hunching.  
            "Ah, yeah, I... I had to think," he muttered as we crossed the street and went up the steps. Bucky hung back as I approached the front desk, sinking back into the shadows as if on instinct.  
            "Hey Sophie," I greeting the blonde behind the desk, and she smiled up at me.  
            "Hi Beth, what's up?"  
            "Nothing, I was just wondering when Sam's back." She frowned, turning to her computer screen.  
            "Umm... not for another few days. Possibly Friday. I've got Liz and Max down to cover his talks."  
            "Wonderful. Let me know if you need anything else covered." She grinned as I turned away.  
            "You work too hard."  
            "Someone has to," I shot back, leading Bucky up the stairs. He waited outside the door again as I slipped inside. Joey didn't even look round, but stared out the window as I motioned Liz over to me. She looked harassed.  
            "Hi," I breathed. "Listen, how would you feel about switching shifts with me today?" Her eyebrows raised.  
            "Sure, where are you down for?"  
            "Over with Matthew and the guys." She nodded, glancing back at Joey, her face concerned.  
            "Okay, I've got you. Good luck." I grinned as we both moved over to the door and she slipped out, giving Bucky a curious glance as she passed him. I jerked my head and he slipped inside. He didn't wait this time, but walked across the room as I closed the door to stand before the window, looking down on Joey. For a second they were both silent, then Joey let out a long quiet whistle that was so sad, I felt my heart splinter at the sound. Bucky looked down.  
            "I know. I'm sorry. I just..." He sighed, then rubbed his face with his right hand. "It wasn't a good idea. I had to think." Joey let out a low noise that could have meant anything, then nodded his head to the other chair. With a slight smile, Bucky took it, and Joey produced the puzzle box again. For a moment they worked in silence, heads bent together, then Joey paused and glanced up at his companion, watching him as I moved quietly forwards and sat down a few feet away. The room, usually filled with music, was oddly quiet, other than the shuffling of puzzle pieces. After a few seconds, Joey looked back down, then over at me, and let out a short series of clicks. Smiling, I sat back in my chair.  
            "Talk? About what?" Joey shrugged, and I wracked my brains for something to fill the silence. "My neighbours had another argument last night. I've told you about John and Lisa?" Joey nodded, so I continued. "From what I could hear, John's brother has fallen off the band wagon, and got steaming drunk, before showing up there. Anyway, he ended up passed out on the couch, and Lisa said that their home wasn't a recovery pit for alcoholics. She wants John to put his foot down with him, but... it's his brother. What can he do? I'm pretty sure one of them threw something then. I heard something smashing."  
            "You got all that through a wall?" Bucky asked. I shrugged.  
            "Just because some people prefer me to do all the talking doesn't mean I can't listen." I said mildly. Neither of them met my gaze. "And they didn't exactly keep their voices down. Anyway, it was very quiet this morning, so I don't know what's going on." I sighed, but Joey chirruped, so I kept going.  
            "Apparently Sam won't be back here until Friday, so his talks are being covered by Max and Liz. I'm starting to think he might have another job lined up." I mused, half to myself. "He's not here almost as much as he is. It'll be a shame if he goes." Joey made a small agreement from the back of his throat.  
            "Daniel, over in Matthew's ward, is doing well. His physio is going great, and he's walking a little more each day, but he still has nightmares." Bucky's eyes flicked up to mine, then back down to the puzzle. "We've been bringing him lots of books. It gives him something to do in the middle of the night." I fell silent again, thinking. Joey whistled in admonition.  
            "Something happier huh? I have a day off this weekend." Joey stuck out his bottom lip and I laughed. "Don't pout at me. It's only one day, and I'll come back to see you again. You know that." But he whined anyway. I chuckled again and spoke over him. "I've got some house work to do, then I don't know what else I'll do. Maybe I'll go and see a film or something." I considered, then shook off the thought. Luckily Joey's attention had moved off of me. The string of clicks and whistles he directed at Bucky was more complex than his usual ones, and I translated when Bucky looked over in confusion, hoping that it wouldn't scare him off.  
            "He's asking what you do." Bucky went very still and for a second I was sure that he was about to leave, but he didn't. He just sat, staring at the puzzle piece in his hand.  
            "I'm just trying to figure out who I am." His voice was quiet, but carried in the still room. He sounded so unsure that my heart cracked a little all over again. For a second none of us moved, then Joey leaned forwards and put his hand over Bucky's.  
            "Start with little things," he said, and I stared at him. Four words at once? Joey? He gestured at the edges of the puzzle forming in front of them. "Begin at the edge, to hold it all together. Worry about the big picture later." I was gaping now, my jaw working soundlessly. Something in Joey that had held back his words for so long seemed to have broken. Bucky barely seemed to have noticed, he was still staring down at his hand as Joey withdrew his own. Seemingly unsurprised at the freeness of his own tongue, Joey went back to the puzzle, whistling a tune as he did so. It was several minutes before Bucky shook himself and joined in. Without saying a word, I stood up and put some music on, but I had no idea what I was listening to. I was caught in my own tumbling thoughts. Bucky had somehow broken through to Joey, on only his second visit. Maybe Joey would be the one who could break through to Bucky? I could only hope, because I desperately wanted to know more about the man sitting at the table. I wanted to know what had happened to him, and what I could do to help, but I didn't know how to get him to trust me enough to open up. Yet maybe, just maybe, Joey was the answer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick shout-out to the talented Mr Renner, who received an Academy Award nomination for his role in "The Town".
> 
> Any mistakes are my own, full credit to Marvel Studios for bringing us this wonderful world with which our imaginations can run wild.  
> Comments = Love


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 30/06/15  
> My infinite thanks to the 1 guest who has left kudos on this work.
> 
> Previously: Bucky meets Joey.

Bucky became a familiar sight around the VA over the next few days. I'd mentioned him to the other staff, and at my request, they kept a slight distance from him, letting him past unchecked through the corridors with Joey. They spent a lot of time together over that couple of days, though Bucky would sometimes follow me around instead, talking to the other veterans, just as I did. And he began to change. It seemed slow to me, because I watched him so much, but if I'd left for two days, and then come back, I would have barely recognised him. Bucky became more confident with every hour. He would laugh as he sat in the garden with Joey, and smile slightly at my colleagues when they passed in the corridors. Even his body language relaxed. He wasn't so hunched over all of the time, and stopped hiding beneath the baseball cap, though he still wore it out on the streets during our lunchtime walks. His hands didn't stay so firmly in his pockets any more, although I noticed that his left hand still remained hidden a lot, and even on the couple of occasions when it did emerge, it was always covered by a black leather glove. I didn't comment on this. Many of the veterans who came to us were disfigured in one way or another, and if Bucky didn't want people staring at his hand because it was burned, or scarred, or whatever, that was up to him. But despite the changes to him, it was the change that he caused that was the most pronounced.  
            Joey had found his voice. Almost every day, whoever was assigned to work with him would leave with a smile on their face, having been gifted with a few words from him. Though he was still quiet and reserved, he would speak to people, with either a few words, or even a couple of sentences, and it made all the difference in the world. But it was with Bucky that he really talked. About his life before the war, and his experience during. About the friends he'd lost along the way. And Bucky even began to talk back. Not to the same extent perhaps, but I overheard snatches of their conversations between them that made me smile, simply for the two-sidedness of them. Even on our walks, Bucky would talk to me more. He'd opened up a little, and it was only now that I found out just how bad his amnesia was. He couldn't tell me much about any part of his life, only disjointed, random fragments of memory that he couldn't place. This worried me more than I let on, but he was coping fairly well, so I didn't say anything. I was too pleased with his progress to risk pushing him away again. I didn't understand what it was between Bucky and Joey that made them both finally open up, but I was too grateful and amazed to question it. Then everything changed.

 

It was Friday morning when Sam returned. Bucky hadn't come in yet, and I was working with Daniel when I heard the news. It was about half an hour later when I hurried past reception and saw him standing chatting to Liz and Max. I moved to join them, smiling as I gave Sam a quick hug of greeting. I was only half-listening to the conversation when Liz nudged me and raised her eyes to the door behind my back.  
            "Your shadow's here," she said, and I looked round. Bucky bounded up the last few steps in one stride, and I smiled at him as he opened the door, and Sam turned at the noise. They froze, both going utterly still as they stared at each other.  
            "You?!" Sam gasped. Bucky was gone in a flash of movement, the door swinging shut behind him as he scarpered, racing away and disappearing in seconds.  
            "Bucky!" I cried, taking a step towards the door, but I was far too late, and Sam caught my arm and wrenched me back before I could go any further.  
            "Beth, what the hell?"  
            "What?" His face had gone unusually pale. "Sam, what's wrong?"  
            "Come with me," he bit out, dragging on my arm as he strode down a corridor, away from Liz and Max, who stared between us and the door where Bucky had so recently stood.  
            "No! Sam, stop." I wrenched my arm out of his grip as I turned back to stare through the doors, but there was no sign of him. "Bucky," I whispered.  
            "Beth please." Sam's voice was shaking slightly. "We need to talk. Now." Slowly, I turned back to face him. He seemed to take this as an agreement, for he turned away and strode the last few paces to his office, pulling his phone out of his pocket and dialling a single number as he went. Though I didn't quite know why, I followed him, closing the office door and placing my back against it as I watched him pace up and down the room, the phone up to his ear.  
            "Steve!" he cried, so suddenly that I jumped. "No, stop. Listen to me. He's here." He whirled round to face the room, eyes burning a hole in the carpet. "Yes, him, here. At the VA." He paused, his eyes flicking up to me, then back down to the ground. "I don't know, I just got back and he was walking through the door." Another pause. "I don't know," he repeated. "I'm going to find out. You need to come here, right now." He glowered at the floor. "Yeah, okay. Yeah. Later." He hung up and raised his eyes to mine. For a second, neither of us spoke. Then he sighed. "Listen, Beth, I don't know what you're playing at..." I cut across him.  
            "What's going on?" He frowned and glanced away, ignoring my question.  
            "I need to know what's been going on here," he said, failing backwards into his chair. I crossed my arms.  _Join_   _the club._  I thought bitterly, shaking my head.  
            "Sam, just tell me what's going on." His dark eyes fixed on mine, considering.  
            "You know who that was?" he asked, his gaze flickering across as if he could see the main doors through the office wall.  
            "Bucky," I said, shrugging. "And?"  
            "Look, how much do you know about him?" I frowned.  
            "Not much. He getting skittish if I ask too many questions. And he's got amnesia. But he's been coming here for a couple of days, and it was you that made him run today. Why?" Sam ignored the question completely.  
            "A couple of days?"  
            "Yeah. I think Tuesday was the first time. I'd told him about Joey before, and he..."  
            "Hold on, how long have you known him?" I shrugged again.  
            "A month, maybe." Sam stared at me.  
            "A  _month_? Why didn't you tell anyone?" I scowled.  
            "Why would I have?"  
            "He's dangerous!" Sam burst out. I gave him three long seconds to tell me he was joking. He didn't.  
            "No he's not," I said seriously.  
            "You don't have any idea," Sam said, his tone somewhere between fear and exasperation. I didn't dignify that with a response, but glared at him silently. With a groan he sat back in his chair and sighed.   
            "You might want to sit down." My jaw tightened, and I stayed where I was for a couple of seconds before moving across to the other chair and sitting down. I waited. Sam took a deep breath.  
            "Bucky Barnes was Steve Rogers' best friend. You know who..." I nodded curtly, and he continued. "Barnes was thought to have been killed in 1945, when he fell off a train into a ravine in the Alps. But he wasn't dead." Sam took a breath, but I didn't say anything. I couldn't see where he was going with this. It was obvious that he wasn't talking about my Bucky. Even if Barnes hadn't died in '45, my Bucky couldn't be more than 35.  
            "He was found by the Soviets, and his body was frozen for a number of years, and eventually handed over to a Nazi organisation called Hydra." My stomach twisted. I, along with the rest of the world, had seen the files on the internet. "Barnes was experimented on, and brainwashed. He was used as an assassin for almost 50 years, frozen between assignments." I watched him silently, my jaw clenched. Sam sighed. "The mess a couple of weeks ago, that was partly him. Afterwards, he dropped off the radar. Rogers has been looking for him ever since." I waited some more, but he didn't say anything else, just looked at me expectantly.  
            "You're trying to tell me that Bucky is a brainwashed assassin from before World War Two?" Sam grimaced, but nodded. "Why did he run from you?" I shot suspicously. Sam scowled.  
            "We've met." I glared at him. That wasn't good enough. Receiving the message, Sam elaborated. "We might have tried to kill each other a few times, before... and after we found out who he was."  
            " _We_  being?" I asked, and he grimaced again.  
            "Me and Steve. And Natasha."  
            "You and Steve Rogers?" I clarified, and he nodded. "And you were fighting him?"              
            "We were fighting the Winter Soldier," he corrected me, and I raised an eyebrow. "His code name."  
            "And you think that this Barnes, the Winter Soldier, is the same man who walked through the door?" Sam fixed me with a stare.  
            "He is. He's dangerous, and you need to stay away from him." I stood up.  
            "You're wrong." I turned away, striding to the office door and wrenching it open.  
            "Have you ever seen his left arm?" I froze. He couldn't have known. He couldn't have. Reluctantly, I half-turned back towards him, and my expression was all the confirmation he needed. "Barnes lost his arm in 45. He's got a metal prosthetic." My mouth opened as my nose began to sting and water gathered in my eyes. "It's him Beth." Sam said.  
            "You're wrong." My voice shook. " _You're wrong_. He's not dangerous. You can ask Joey, and when he answers you, know that you have Bucky to thank." I turned and strode out of his office, and was halfway to the doors when he called after me.  
            "Beth!" I stopped, but didn't turn round. "If you see him, you will call me." I walked on, grabbing my bag from behind the reception desk before I left, without looking back.

 

My shoes tapped impatiently on the pavement as I walked quickly along, searching every face I passed. But none of them were familiar. Not that I was expecting to find him on the street, but I didn't know where else to look. Always, it had been him that had found me. I had no idea where he went the rest of the time, where he slept, or ate. I knew nothing about him. Less than nothing, if Sam was too be believed. Doing my best not to relive the conversation, I paused at the gate to one of the parks I'd frequented with Bucky. But it was empty, except for a few dog-walkers, and a woman pushing a pram. Swallowing, I turned away, but didn't move off. I needed a plan, or at least an idea. Anything. Where would he go? Even after a year and a half, I still didn't know this city well enough to guess where he could have fled to. Only one idea came to me, and I doubted that it would pay out. But with no better options, I strode off, my feet carrying me unfalteringly to the alley where we'd first met.  
            As I'd expected, it was empty. I hung my head, hands on my hips, as I closed my eyes, hoping desperately for another stroke of inspiration. It didn't come. The noise and bustle of the street behind me quietened for a second, and I heard a faint scuffing from in front of me. I opened my eyes, straining them against the semi-darkness. But all was still, and I couldn't discern any more noises. Searching every shadow twice, I stepped hesitantly forwards. After eight steps, my eyes fixed upon a slight movement in the deepest crevice. Three more, and I could make out the outline of the man huddled on the ground. I sank to my haunches without going any closer.  
            "Bucky?" He didn't move. "Bucky, it's me." My voice broke a little as I shuffled a little forwards. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness now, and I could just make out his face. He'd lost the baseball cap, and his long dark hair was falling forwards around his face, but I could still see his bright blue eyes. They weren't darting around now. They weren't moving at all. He didn't look round as I edged a little closer. He didn't even seem aware that I was there.  
            "Bucky? Bucky, please." I shifted again, and this time, he registered the movement. His eyes snapped round to watch me even as he shrank back, pressing his right side even further into the wall as his eyes darted over me warily. I waited in silence.  
            "Beth?" A short, sharp breath escaped me.  
            "Yes. Yes, Bucky, it's me," I said quietly. He relaxed slightly, though he remained huddled against the wall, hunched over away from me. His eyes left me to flick once around before returning to my face.  
            "Where are we?" he whispered, though we were quite alone, and I felt a stab of pity and anxiety. How much must he have been spooked by Sam to not remember coming here? I fought to keep my face blank as, unbidden, Sam's explanation for why Bucky had known him rose in my mind. I dismissed it.  
            "Where we first met," I told Bucky gently, and his eyes widened in horror.  
            "Are you okay? You're not hurt? I didn't..." His right hand moved to grasp his left wrist. It was even harder to keep my face clear this time.  _He's got a metal prosthetic._  Sam's voice whispered in my ear.  
            "I'm fine," I assured Bucky, but he didn't relax.  
            "You should go," he breathed, and my stomach dropped. "It's not... You need to leave." I gazed at him for a few seconds, then shook my head.  
            "No." He opened his mouth to protest, but I didn't give him the chance. "I'm not leaving you Bucky. I'm not." He looked away and I stood up. "Come on. You can't stay here forever. Let's go." His eyes snapped upwards.  
            "Go where?" he asked suspiciously.  
            "My place," I replied, and walked away, waiting at the mouth of the alley until he stepped up beside me before heading home.

 

The walk was quiet, and subdued. Bucky stumbled along beside me, not looking up from the pavement as he followed my left elbow all the way back to the apartment block where I lived. Inside, I called the lift, though I would normally have taken the stairs, because Bucky still looked unsteady on his feet. I didn't doubt that he would have followed me up all four flights of stairs, but I wasn't going to make him do it. The doors pinged open, and I stepped inside, with Bucky right behind me, but he got to the buttons first, and pressed the "4" without asking me. I swallowed, but kept my mouth shut. I would ask him about it later. We rode upwards in silence, and stayed that way along the corridor and into my apartment. I dumped my bag and keys on the counter as Bucky glanced around the open-plan kitchen-living room. It wasn't large, but I kept it clean and tidy. A single door lead off to my bedroom and bathroom, and a large window let in the daylight, though the only view it offered was of another building. Leaning back against the counter, I waited, but it took several seconds before Bucky darted a sideways glance at me.  
            "What happened?" I asked him. He shifted, his hands worming deeper into his pockets, and I couldn't stop my eyes fixing on the movement on his left side, trying to see a difference there. He noticed.  
            "How much do you know?" he demanded. I sighed.  _I'm starting to think that when it comes to you, I don't know anything._  
            "Not much," I said, "Sam said... he said a lot of things." Bucky looked away, and my heart sank, because that single action confirmed for me what Sam had said, more than anything else. "Look, why don't you go and... and clean yourself up, and think about it, and when you're ready, we can talk. If you want." I knew that he needed to think almost as much as I did, and so it came as no great surprise to me that he nodded, and slipped through the door, closing it behind him. My knees trembled and I took a step back, closing my eyes. I heard the bathroom door shut, and the shower start up. I gave him a slow count of 120, listening to the water change half way through, then moved quietly over and opened the bedroom door. It was empty. I riffled through my chest of drawers, pulling out some of my ex-boyfriends clothes. David had never come back for them, and I probably should have thrown them out in the four months since then, but had never been bothered enough to do so. I left a t-shirt, hoodie and jeans on the bed, then went back into the kitchen, shutting the door behind me. I stood with my back to the door, battling with my conscience. It didn't last long. Swearing under my breath, I strode over to my laptop and flipped it open, pulling up Google and typing in Bucky Barnes. The images tab opened at my command, and I drew in a sharp breath.  
            It was him. He looked different with short hair, and a smile on his face, but it was unmistakably him. The pictures were black and white. Pictures of him standing alone, pictures of him holding a rifle comfortably in his arms, pictures of him at the front of a group of six or seven people. And many, many more of him standing beside a tall blond man that I recognised. Steve Rogers. I snapped the laptop shut, pushing it away from me and rubbing my hands over my eyes. With a groan, I leaned forwards, hiding from the world behind my hands, as I waited for the World War Two veteran to finish in my bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, sorry this chapter took so long, all comments and kudos are welcome.


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9/7  
> My thanks to the two guests who have left kudos on this work since the last update. It's much appreciated.
> 
> Previously: Bucky helps Joey find his voice. Sam comes back, Bucky flees, and Sam tries to explain The Winter Soldier to Beth.

I don't know how long I sat there, thoughts running through my head too fast for me to catch them. The darkness behind my hands was comforting and I didn't look up until I heard the door open behind me. I turned, blinking to clear the dark spots from my eyes, and I gaped as his face came into focus. He'd shaved. It made him look so much younger, and as his eyes met mine, I caught a glimpse of the man in the pictures beside Steve Rogers. He crept round the sofa to stand above me, shuffling his feet. He was wearing David's clothes, and his hands were deep in the pockets. I jerked my head sideways, and he sat down cautiously, watching me as I considered him.  
            "How did you know what floor I live on?"  
            "I followed you the first day after we met," he replied, totally unabashed. I stared at him.  
            "That's really creepy," I said, stuck between indignation and amusement. His face twitched and his shoulders relaxed a little as I shook my head and sobered. "You know what Sam told me?" His jaw tightened and he gave a jerk somewhere between a nod and a shrug. "You're Bucky Barnes?" Looking away from me, he stared at the blank wall, his expression blank.  
            "I think so."  
            "And the Winter Soldier?" He nodded, but didn't look at me. My eyes traced down his left arm. I wanted to ask to see it, but bit my tongue. "Bucky, please, talk to me." He rubbed his eyes with his right hand and gave me a hopeless look.  
            "I don't know how," he said. He looked so lost.  
            "What's the first thing you can remember?" I asked him. "Your first memory." He looked away again, back towards the wall.  
            "I don't know. I've just got flashes, but I can't place them."  
            "Anything from your childhood? School?" He frowned at the wall.  
            "I can remember a group of children, but I don't know if it's from a school."  
            "Are they your friends?"  
            "No." His reply came fast, and vehemently. "They're doing something... or were going to... I had to stop them." My eyes narrowed slightly as I considered him.  
            "Why? What were they doing?"  
            "I don't know!" he said, growling a little in his frustration. "Something... bad. Wrong. It made me angry." I hid my triumph. He could still connect emotions to the memories. That, in my mind at least, was a good sign. It was when the veterans remembered traumas as nothing more than images that I got worried.  
            "What the first thing you remember clearly?" I asked. His face was still as he thought.  
            "I was on a... an aircraft? No. It was big, and it was flying... A... A helicarrier?" He looked round at me in askance and I nodded, though my stomach felt leaden. I'd seen the shaky footage of the three Insight heli-carriers crashing down into the Potomac. "I was fighting him. He... he was attacking someone. And I couldn't stop him. But I tried." His eyes snapped to mine. "I tried!" I nodded silently, and he sighed. "I made him stop eventually, but he fell. He fell into the water." He swallowed, closing his eyes for a second before continuing. "So I, I went after him. Pulled him out. I made sure he was breathing, then I..." He sighed. "I left." I narrowed my eyes.  
            "Why did you leave?" He grimaced slightly.  
            "I... I couldn't stay," he said. "I couldn't face him. Not then."  
            "Who is  _he_?"  
            "Steve," he whispered. I gave him twenty seconds of silence.  
            "And after that?" He shook his head.  
            "I hid. I knew he would look for me. They'd taught him how to hide," he grimaced as I fought not to frown. "I used it." He muttered.  
            "What about Sam?" I asked. He looked round at me, frowning.  
            "Who?" I frowned back.  
            "My boss. The guy at the VA today." Bucky's face twitched.  
            "Oh." I waited.  
            "He was... I don't know. He recognised him."  
            "He?" I asked, but Bucky shook his head violently and I backed off, considering him. But even as I opened my mouth, my phone rang. Bucky jumped at the sudden sound as I pulled it out. It was Sam.  _Speak of the devil_. I thought wryly, as I glanced back up at Bucky. He was staring at the name on the screen with a mixture of wariness and suspicion. With an internal sigh, I took and call and put it on speaker.  
            "Sam?"  
            "Hey Beth."  
            "Listen..." I said, before he could continue. "I'm sorry about earlier, going off on you like that. It's just..." I sighed, "I don't even know what to think right now."  
            "Don't worry about that. I just wanted to make sure you're okay... are you okay?"  
            "Yeah. I guess." He seemed to understand, and I tried to ignore the stab of guilt in my chest.  
            "Where are you?"  
            "I'm back at my place," I told him, without looking up at Bucky.  
            "Okay, just... just be careful." I gave a tight smile at his words.  
            "I always am."  
            "And Beth... if you see him again, call me." I hesitated, looking up at Bucky. "Elizabeth? Promise me." I closed my eyes.  
            "I promise that if I find him, I will call you."  
            "Good girl. I've got to go."  
            "Okay, I... bye Sam." I hung up, and met Bucky's blue eyes.  
            "You promised," he said tightly as I put my phone back in my pocket.  
            "I promised that I would call him if I find you. I've already found you. I hope I'm not going to have to do it again," I said, a mock severity to my tone. His mouth twitched, ever so slightly before his eyes moved past me, staring out the window. I turned, sitting back on the sofa as I followed his line of sight. The sun was sinking. I hadn't realised it was that late. Frowning, I tried to account for the loss of time, but my thoughts slipped away as I stared silently out of the window, looking at nothing, thinking of nothing.  
            It took several minutes of silence before I looked back round at Bucky. His eyes had shifted from the window to a blank space of wall, and his face was eerily blank as he gazed straight ahead.  
            "Bucky?" He made a small noise, but otherwise, didn't respond. "Bucky, what do you want?" His head whipped round and his blue eyes locked on mine.  
            "What?"  
            "What do you want?" I repeated. "Where do you want your life to end up? How long are you going to keep running? How long can you?" He gazed morosely at me.  
            "I don't know." He said. "I don't know how to stop running. I can't just live a normal life after everything... everything that was done..." He looked away.  
            "What makes you happy?" He looked back at me, and I dropped my gaze under his deadened expression, swallowing back my remorse. A slightly painful silence fell. Without looking at Bucky, I stood up and stretched, glancing at the clock before moving over to the kitchen. Carefully keeping my back to the room, I moved along the cupboards. It didn't take long.  
            "What are you doing?" he asked, and I jumped on hearing his voice right behind me. I hadn't heard him get up from the sofa.  
            "Cooking," I replied, then paused with my hand in the bag of pasta. "You're not allergic to anything, are you?" I looked round in time to see him shake his head with a bemused expression.  
            "Why?"  
            "Because I don't want to give you something you can't eat?" I glanced round as he rolled his eyes and had to look away quickly to hide my grin.  
            "That's not..."  
            "Why am I cooking?" I scoffed. "Because it's getting late. Because I'm hungry." I turned fully at last and pointed a spoon accusingly at him. "And because I've never seen you eat anything." He stared at me, apparently stunned, and a dreadful thought crept through my mind. "You do eat, don't you?" He nodded, still looking bewildered, and I relaxed a little as I turned to fill up the kettle, then crouched to examine the contents of my fridge. "Broccoli or carrots?"  
            "... I don't mind." I could hear the shrug in his tone seeing it. Scowling at a block of cheese, I tried again.  
            "How are you going to make big decisions when you can't make little ones? First answer that pops into your head; Broccoli or carrots?"  
            "Broccoli." The word comes fast and sure, and I smiled as I extracted the green head and put it on a board.  
            "Much better," I said, my fingers dancing over my knives. "Keep going, first answer. Dogs or cats?"  
            "Dogs."  
            "Too hot or too cold."  
            "Too cold. Oh." The kettle flicked off, but I ignored it, twisting round to examine his startled face.  
            " _Oh,_  indeed. I thought you were frozen for 70-odd years?" He nodded silently, looking down. My eyes flickered downwards too, and rested on his hands, which were gripping the counter. The left one was gloved. I turned away, quashing once again the insane desire to ask to see it. I couldn't see that going well. Instead, I grabbed the kettle and poured boiling water over the pasta as I search for another question to ask him. Or anything to occupy my thoughts, other than that arm.  
            "What's your favourite colour?"  
            "Green."  
            "Really?"  
            "Apparently." I laughed, but he shook his head. "I don't know where I'm getting this from."  
            "That's the point," I said gently. "It doesn't matter where it's coming from. It's you. Isn't that enough?" He looked away, his jaw clenched. I stood perfectly still, eyes narrowed as I watched him. "Are you having an internal debate right now as to whether green is the favourite colour of Bucky Barnes or the Winter Soldier?" I asked. He didn't reply, and the silence was answer enough. I shook my head and moved to stand right in front of him. "Listen to me. You're not one or the other. You don't even have to be either." But his gaze was hopeless as it locked on mine.  
            "But Steve..."  
            "Steve will have to deal with it," I told him firmly.  
            "Everyone's going to look at me and see a monster." I crossed my arms and frowned, but I didn't want to lie to him.  
            "Maybe. Until you show them something different. But all I see is someone who prefers broccoli over carrots, and managed to make Joey speak more than I've ever seen him do so before." Bucky's expression relaxed a little, and he offered me a weak smile. I returned it, then went back over starting to cut up the broccoli.  
            "Do you want some help?" Bucky asked after a moment. I smirked without looking round.  
            "I'm fine."  _Not that I doubt your skills with a blade._  I quashed the thought before it could slip out, shaking my head as I kept my eyes on the knife in my hand. We were both quiet as I moved around the kitchen, adding the broccoli to the saucepan before getting a tub of garlic and herb cream cheese from the fridge and putting some bowls to warm up. Occasionally I would glance over at Bucky, but he was lost in his own thoughts, and I left him to them. Only when I had returned the pasta to the saucepan with the cream cheese did his eyes snap up again, and continue following me around. I let the silence remain until I'd slid a filled bowl in front of him with a fork, and we'd begun to eat.  
            "What are you thinking?" I asked him. He didn't answer right away.  
            "I'm thinking that this is really good," he said. I didn't bother replying, and he sighed. "I don't want to run forever," he said quietly, and I felt a flare of triumph that I kept a long way from my face.  
            "But..." I prompted him.  
            "But I don't know how to stop," he admitted. I had to take another mouthful of pasta then, to stop myself speaking. This had to be his decision. He pushed his food around for another minute, then sighed and looked up at me. "Steve." I held his gaze, waiting, waiting... "I've got to see him, haven't I?"  
            "Only if it's what you want." I said gently. He closed his eyes for a second.  
            "I don't know what I want. I'm not even sure how to want," he said after a second. "But I need to do this." I nodded and returned to my food, and he followed suit. We finished eating, and I persuaded Bucky to have a second portion while I polished off my first. He helped carry the bowls over to the side and wiped them dry after I'd washed them. Then, I faced him, very serious as I pulled out my phone.  
            "Are you sure?" I asked him, and he nodded, though his jaw was clenched, and his eyes were wide. I dialled Sam's number and put it on speaker again. It rang several times, the sound echoing around the kitchen, before he picked up.  
            "Hello?"  
            "Sam. It's Beth." He was silent. He knew. "Look, I..." I sighed. "Is Steve with you?"  
            "Yeah, he's here." I took a breath, then rattled off my address. Sam paused for a moment.  
            "We'll be there in 15," he said. Bucky's face paled, but he didn't move.  
            "Put him on." I said wearily. There was a moment's pause. Then...  
            "I'm here." Bucky went stiff at the sound of his voice, though it was unfamiliar to me.  
            "What was Bucky's favourite colour?" I asked. There was a moment of stillness on both ends.  
            "Green," he said. Bucky clapped a hand over his mouth, his eyes closed, his whole body trembling. I hung up as he dropped to his knees. Putting my phone away, I dropped down beside him as he swayed.  
            "Hey," I said gently, "it's okay." I reached out slowly and touched his arm gently. His eyes opened and they were glittering.  
            "I was right," he whispered through his fingers. "I was right."  
            "Oh, Bucky," I said gently. "Come on." I pulled him to his feet and drew him over to the sofa. He was still shaking. Almost on instinct, I wrapped my left arm around his shoulder, and after a second, he leaned into the contact. Rubbing his back, I closed my eyes and felt the tremors slowly leave him. But even after he'd stilled, he didn't pull away, so we remained huddled together, waiting.

 

At the sound of footsteps just outside the door, we both looked up. Someone knocked softly.  
            "Oh god," Bucky breathed. "I can't... I can't..." I slipped away from him.  
            "Yes you can," I said firmly, and went over to the door. With a single glance back at him, I flicked the lock across, and pulled it open. Two men stood there. Sam was slightly to the back, almost hidden behind a face that I recognised from the pictures, though I'd never seen him before. I didn't say a word, but stepped back out of the way. Steve Rogers strode into the room, but froze as he saw Bucky on the sofa, just as immobile. Sam stepped in behind him, and I closed the door before walking across the silent room and standing by the end of the sofa, looking between the three men.  
            "Bucky?" Steve's voice wavered slightly. Bucky climbed to his feet slowly and took a hesitant step forwards. To his credit, Steve didn't move, but remained in place.  
            "I know you." Bucky's voice was low and fierce. Almost defiant. Steve swallowed, and nodded. They were both staring hungrily, drinking in the sight of the other one. I retreated, turning away and humming to myself to give them a little more privacy. They didn't need an audience for this. Sam joined me in seconds, and together we tried not to listen to the hesitant words behind our backs.  
            "You promised that you'd call me," Sam said. I glanced sideways.  
            "I did." He scowled.  
            "When you found him."  
            "I'd already found him." He shook his head.  
            "You're a real idiot sometimes," he scoffed, but I grinned, and a glance over my shoulder was all I needed to believe that I'd done the right thing.  
"Yeah. I know." I threw Sam a sideways look. "So are you ready to tell me why you have Captain America on speed dial?" He grimaced, but had opened his mouth when another voice interrupted us.  
            "Sam." We both started and turned round. Bucky and Steve stood shoulder-to-shoulder, facing us. "We need to go." Sam nodded at once, and moved over to the door. Bucky hung back, his eyes on me. I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile.  
            "You'll be fine." I stuck out my hand and he came forwards to grasp it.  
            "Thank you," he said, his eyes very serious. "For everything." Part of me wanted to hug him, but I didn't, taking a step backwards instead and handing him a small scrap of paper with ten digits written on it.  
            "If you ever want to talk," I said, and he smiled as he looked up from my phone number. As always, the expression lit up his whole face. Then they slipped out the door, and were gone. He was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to Marvel, apologies that this took a while, and is still a little shorter than the rest.  
> All kudos and comments are received with extreme excitement, and are most welcome.


	5. V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 16/7  
> Thanks to skeyeyes7 and the 1 guest who have left kudos since the last chapter was posted. It's much appreciated, and the sole reason for this chapter going up today, so thanks for the motivation.
> 
> Previously: Bucky and Beth talk, eat, and separate.

Technically, the next day was my day off, but I went by the VA anyway. I had to try and explain things to Joey. He sat quietly though my fumbled attempt, then smiled, squeezed my hand, and went back to staring out of the window. The puzzle he and Bucky had completed remained on the table. He'd never broken it back up.  
            It wasn't a very productive day. I did manage to get some chores done, but eventually I gave up and sat before my laptop. Once again I typed Bucky's name into the search engine, and this time I opened as many links as possible, and I read through every single one. But it wasn't enough. So I searched for the Winter Soldier and did it all over again. It was grimmer work, but even as I scanned down lists of supposed kills, I couldn't reconcile the image with the man I'd found having a panic attack in the middle of the street.

 

I floated through the next week without really living it. Sam re-appeared after three days, and I paused the first time I passed him in the corridor.  
            "How's he doing?" I asked, and he hesitated, then nodded slowly.  
            "Better," he replied, and moved past me. I let him go. My phone didn't ring, and I admonished myself every time I looked at it. It was a good thing that he didn't need me anymore. Maybe he was talking to Steve. That would be good. That was what should be happening.  
            Joey started going out for walks, slipping out the front door in any weather, returning drenched to the skin if it was raining. On Thursday, he didn't come back. We mourned, but there was nothing to do. This wasn't a prison, and we weren't going to make it into one. Joey was no danger, to himself or to others, so we let him go.  
            I threw myself into work, filling my hours with the pains of the veterans, rather than dwell on Bucky. I spent far too much time lying awake at night doing just that to waste my daylight hours on it as well. It took another week after Joey's disappearance for me to stop looking for a familiar figure every time I went for a walk at lunchtime. I took some night shifts, sitting in the darkened corridors and waiting for an inevitable scream. At least I did some good, and after nearly 30 hours straight, I managed to go home and fall asleep the moment my head hit my pillow. I counted that as a victory, and did it again.  
            Sam's schedule continued to be unreliable, and I kept my head down when I passed him. On the few occasions we did speak, Bucky hung between us, a large pink elephant in the room. But any questions I asked about how he was doing were always answered with the same single word.  _Better_. I tried to convince myself that it was enough. It didn't work, so I pushed my body to its limits and tried to sleep without worrying. That didn't really work either.

 

With time, and a lot of pep-talks, it got better. I convinced myself that he was happy now, that he'd found a place in the world, and I was happy for him. It was nearly a month after I'd seen Bucky walk out the door that I floated out of sleep to the sound of my phone vibrating on the bedside table. With a groan, I sat up and looked round.  **3:24**.Who was calling me at that time in the morning? I picked up and fought to keep the sleep from my voice.  
            "Hello?"  
            "Beth?" I was wide-awake at once, practically leaping out of my bed. I knew that voice.  
            "Bucky?" My voice cracked. "Hi. Are you okay?"  
            "I... Yes... No... I..." He fell silent.  
            "Bucky? What's wrong? Talk to me."  
            "I... I don't know... I just... I can't..." He went quiet again.  
            "Bucky, what happened?" There was a pause on the other end, then a sigh, and a dull thud that I heard twice. I looked round in confusion. What the...? No, he couldn't be... I strode through the flat and pulled open the front door.  
            He'd been pacing back and forth, phone up to his ear, head hanging. At the sound of the door opening, he looked round. For a second we stared at each other, then I hung up the phone. His hair was shorter, and his face was a bit less thin, but it was still un-deniably him, his face, his eyes. Without even having to think about it, I held out my arms. His face contorted and he took two shaking strides into my embrace, burying his face in my shoulder as he let out a strangled sob that tore at my heart. I turned him round, shutting the door and leaning my back against it so he could pull away, another souvenir of the veterans' nightmares. But he didn't draw back, he just clung to me and cried. Leaning my head sideways onto his, I wrapped my arms around his back and held him as he shook with sobs. I'd never been more glad that I was very tall.  
            "It's okay," I murmured, "it's okay, I've got you." He didn't last nearly as long as some of the guys at the VA. It was only about five minutes before he pulled back, wiping his face as he averted his gaze.  
            "I'm sorry," he muttered, but I put my hand on his chin and pulled his gaze around to meet mine.  
            "Don't apologize," I said, very seriously. "Don't ever apologize." He offered me a weak, watery grin. "Come sit down." He did, sinking onto the sofa as I snagged my dressing gown from the bedroom.  
            "I woke you up," he said as I sat down beside him.  
            "Not really," I lied, pulling my knees up beneath me as I eyed him. "Do you want to tell me what happened?" He shook his head as he looked away, but it wasn't a refusal, so I waited.  
            "I just..." He gave a sigh that was nearly a groan. "They all look at me, expecting to see someone."  
            "You are someone," I said, frowning, but he shook his head again.  
            "It's not that. It's..." Another sigh. "They all expect someone else. They check their weapons every time I enter a room. And I don't blame them, I understand it, but..."  _But it's wearing._  I finished for him.  
            "And Steve?" I probed, sensing that this wasn't all. Bucky's eyes closed.  
            "Steve wants his best friend back," he said. "But I'm not him! I don't know how to be! He looks at me like he knows what he wants me to say, but I don't know what it is! I can't go back, it's not me anymore." He paused, looking round at me with more tears threatening in his eyes. "I don't want to disappoint him."  
            "Bucky, Bucky, it's okay, shush." I gripped his right hand as he blinked and a teardrop fell into his lap. A phone rang suddenly, and I jumped, looking round. But it wasn't mine. Bucky's eyes had closed again.  
            "You didn't tell him you were leaving?" I guessed. He shook his head. "Give me the phone." His blue eyes snapped open, suddenly panicked.  
            "I can't talk to him!" I fixed him with a very steady gaze.  
            "You don't have to talk to anyone," I said firmly. "Give me the phone." He handed it over in trepidation. I rejected the call, then pulled up a blank text message.  
 **He's safe. Go away** _._  I sent it to the contact "Steve Rogers" then turned the phone off and put it down on the table. I didn't care if it was rude. It said enough, and right now I needed to focus on Bucky. His eyes were waiting to meet mine as I took his hand again.  
            "I missed the way you look at me," he said suddenly. I blinked in surprise, but he barely noticed, and continued. "I didn't even notice until I was around them. You look at me without expecting to see anyone."  
            "That's not true," I corrected him gently. "I just don't expect to see anyone other than  _you_." He was silent for a moment.  
            "They want to send me out."  
            " _What?_ "  
            "They were talking about taking me on a mission." Anger, white-hot and burning rose in my chest until I couldn't speak. I couldn't even think. Bucky kept talking through my stunned silence. "I don't want to fight. I don't want to be  _him_  again. I don't know how to come back. What if I can't come back?"  
            "Bucky, stop," I begged, and he fell silent, eyes on the ground. I reached out and took his other hand, the metal one, as well. "Look at me." He did so reluctantly, taking a few seconds to raise his eyes to mine. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to. Okay?  _Anything_. They have no right to ask that of you."  
            "But if I can help..."  
            "No," I cut across him. "You don't owe them that. You've given enough Bucky. You've given  _so much_. You don't owe anyone."  
            "I'm scared," he admitted in a whisper, and my heart broke. "He's so strong."  
            "The Winter Soldier?" I murmured, and he nodded.  
            "He's waiting," he moaned, eyes closing. "I thought I was winning, that I'd won, but he's still there, and he won't go away. He's waiting, waiting for me to slip."  
            "Bucky, shush. It's okay." He half-leaned, half fell towards me, and I caught his head in my lap, curling my arms around him. "It's okay. You don't ever have to be him again. He's gone, and you're just as strong as he is." He shook his head mutely, but I gripped his hand more tightly. "Yes you are. I've seen it. I've seen it when you were with the veterans, with Joey." I ignored the stab of worry I felt whenever I said his name, and pressed on. "I saw it the very first time I saw you. Even then, you were the one in control."  
            "I'm always fighting him." His voice was muffled in my lap.  
            "But you're winning Bucky. You're winning."  
            "They don't think I will. They're waiting for me to fail." I paused for a moment.  
            "Bucky, who are  _they_?"  
            "Fury. Sam." I had to grit my teeth. Sam should know better. "Steve." My shoulders slumped a little, and I disengaged one of my hands from his to stroke down his back. "Steve doesn't think I'll fail," he admitted after a pause. "But he keeps waiting for his Bucky to come back." We were both silent then, because we both knew that that couldn't happen. Steve's Bucky had been shattered into a million pieces, and the man sitting with me was trying desperately to put them back together, anyway he could get them to fit.  
            But it was his talk of the Winter Soldier that worried me the most. As if he was following my thoughts, he spoke again.  
            "He's quieter with you. I didn't notice that either." His shoulders were relaxing under my hand and he turned his face to the side, before his breathing evened out. I sighed over his sleeping head. What a mess. My eyes fell on his phone, and I considered turning it back on to check for a reply, but decided against it. Steve knew that Bucky was safe, that he wasn't alone, and I'd told him to stay away. I didn't care to tell him anymore, though I was certainly going to be having words with him soon. And Sam. And the rest of  _them_  if I could. Finding that my hands were shaking, I breathed out, trying to dispel the anger. Then I lay my head back on the sofa, and waited to fall asleep.

 

I awoke first in the morning, and sat in the morning light that was creeping in through the curtains. The anger I'd felt so strongly was still writhing under my skin, but it was quieter now than it had been last night. Though I kept still, it was only a few minutes after I woke that Bucky stirred. He sat up very slowly, stretching and glancing round in surprise.  
            "Hey. You okay?" He nodded, though his face tightened when his eyes fell on the phone, still sitting on the table. Rubbing his face, he seemed to wake a little more.  
            "I'm sorry. About last night. About coming here. I shouldn't have called you."  
            "Bucky," I cut him off. "I'm glad you did. I worried about you." He flashed a slight smile.  
            "You worried about me?"  
            "Oh shut up," I said, standing and stretching. "Seriously, I'm glad you called. Do you want coffee or something?" He shrugged, also climbing to his feet.  
            "I'll do it. What do you want?"  
            "A shower," I said, waving at the kitchen. "Help yourself, I'll only be five minutes." I skipped washing my hair, not wanting to leave Bucky along for too long, but it was still seven minutes before I opened the bedroom door again, clean and dressed. He was peering over the top of the toaster, trying to see inside.  
            "It should pop up when it's done," I said, and he looked round just as the toast pinged up. He leapt a foot in the air, stumbling backwards. I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing as he glared at the machine. "Haven't you used a toaster before?" I asked. He shrugged.  
            "Yes. But it doesn't always stop before it burns," I grinned again as he put the toast onto plates and slid one across to me.  
            "Cheers," I said, grabbing the butter from the fridge and spreading it thickly before taking a bite. Bucky ate his plain.  
            "Are you working today?" he asked suddenly. I shook my head, then paused. I was meant to be going in this evening.  
            "But I do need to call," I said, scooping up my phone from the side. It told me I had a total of nine texts, four voicemails and eleven missed calls. Lucky I'd turned it off last night. I ignored them all, dialling the number from memory as Bucky finished his toast and tried not to watch me from the corner of his eyes. I recognised Max's voice as soon as he picked up.  
            "Hello?"  
            "Hi Max, it's Beth."  
            "Oh hey Beth. Sam called earlier, looking for you."  
            "Yeah, I know. My mobile died, but I've talked to him," I lied without even thinking about it.  
            "Okay cool. What's up?"  
            "Actually, my temperature. I'm not sure I'll make it in this evening," I said ruefully.  
            "Oh no! I'm sorry Beth, I hope you feel better soon. Don't worry, we'll be fine. I'll take you off the rota until next week."  
            "No Max, you don't have to do that..."  
            "Beth, you've been working too much," he said sternly. "You need some time off. As your sort-of boss, this isn't a request." I sighed.  
            "Okay. I... Thanks Max."  
            "Take some time for yourself. And get better. Hear me?" I grinned.  
            "Yeah, I hear you. I'll see you next week."  
            "Good girl." He hung up and I turned back to Bucky. He was watching me. With a sigh, I looked back down at my phone, pulling up the list of missed calls. Three from Sam, then five from various unknown numbers, two from a blocked number, then another one from Sam. I didn't bother looking at the texts. I wasn't ready to talk to him, to any of them, just yet.  
            "How's Joey?" Bucky asked, having apparently decided not to comment on my phone call. I looked away, out the window.  
            "He left," I admitted, "about three weeks ago." Bucky nodded slowly, though his eyes were on the floor. "It's a good thing," I said, not entirely sure which of us I was trying to convince. "He's getting back into the world, adapting." I continued to stare out over the city. "You were really good with him, you know. You were amazing."  
            "I didn't do anything," he said. I shrugged.  
            "You did something. And it was enough."  
            "Have you seen him?"  
            "Since he left? No, I don't know where he went," I said, looking round at him, he raised his gaze to meet mine.  
            "I might," he admitted, and I cocked my head at him. "It's just something he mentioned," he said, shuffling his feet.  
            "Do you want to go? To try and find him?" I asked, cautiously. It took a second, but he nodded. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for any typos or grammatical errors. Credit to Marvel.  
> 


	6. VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 17/7  
> My thanks to the guest who left kudos on this since the last chapter. And my infinite thanks to ShinyBlue for their wonderful comment on Chp V. It's thanks only to them that this chapter is appearing so quickly. 
> 
> Previously: Beth learns to live after Bucky leaves, then doesn't have to any more. Bucky let slip that he isn't alone in his head.

So we walked the city again. I let Bucky lead, since I didn't know where we were going, but I stuck by his side, following him along crowded streets.  
            "This is how it all started," he said suddenly, "walking the city." I smiled, remembering.  
            "I know. Though you didn't always show up," I reminded him. He nodded, brooding.  
            "He was too loud. I was scared he would win. So I stayed away from you. From everyone."  
            "Where did you go?" I asked, careful to keep most of my curiosity out of my tone. He just shrugged.  
            "Anywhere there weren't any people. Building sites. Tunnels. A rooftop once, I think." I winced at the thought of him battling his own mind on a roof even as I wondered at this new openness. A barrier between us had broken. Or maybe there just weren't any more secrets left.  
            Before I could think of what to say, Bucky had turned off the pavement. I looked around curiously. I didn't know this area of the city, but the dark alleys made me nervous. Bucky didn't seem to be bothered as he strode through the half-light, following the twists and turns with a prowling confidence. Finally we emerged into a surprisingly open space. There was even a patch of grass in the middle, and sitting on it, staring at nothing, was a familiar figure. My jaw dropped as Bucky let out a cautious whistle. Joey looked round, and his face lifted into a half-smile. He whistled back, the sound rising and falling like song. Movement around the edges of the open space drew my eyes to other people, but I stayed by Bucky's side as he moved forwards to sit on the grass beside Joey.  
            "Hey, Joe," he said, as Joey fixed him with a stern stare.  
            "You left." Bucky grimaced.  
            "Yeah. I know. I'm sorry." Joey looked away, staring up at the sky, visible overhead between the dilapidated buildings.  
            "People missed you," he said before looking back down. "There are more places than you know that would welcome you." Bucky smiled sadly.  
            "Thanks." But I could tell from his tone that he only believed his own truth; he knew what he was, in his own mind. And that person wasn't welcome anywhere. "I didn't know if you'd actually be here," Bucky said, looking around. "Wasn't entirely sure I could find it." Joey grinned.  
            "But you did."  
            "I did," Bucky admitted.  
            "It's funny. No matter how many people go searching, only a few will find this place," Joey said, gazing up at the sky again. "People who come looking for someone will never find them here. You wouldn't have found this place if you'd come looking for me."  
            "Then what did I come looking for?" Bucky replied. I sat quietly, listening in mild surprise. I'd never heard Joey be so philosophical. But then again, by the time he was talking properly, I wasn't listening. At that point, it seemed a waste of time to stay in the room so I could supervise them, so Bucky and Joey had walked the corridors, or sat outside in the sun. Was this how they had talked then too?  
            "That's a good question," Joey said. "What did you come looking for? Peace? Forgiveness?" Bucky twitched. "No, I thought not," He continued, without looking round. "You won't find forgiveness out here. That will have to come from within."  
            "Maybe I just missed our talks." Joey laughed then, and it was a wild sound; free and careless, and not a normal laugh at all.  
            "Well, maybe next time you'll know what you're looking for," he said, then looked past Bucky to smile at me. I returned the expression gently.  
            "How you doing Joey?" I asked, and he scowled gently.  
            " _I'm_  fine. You should think more about yourself. You look tired." I smiled again, but didn't reply and he snorted. "Don't worry about me Beth. You have much better things to do with your energies."  
            "Like what?" I asked.  
            "Dedicating them to better sources." His eyes flickered almost imperceptibly, but I caught the tiny movement. Bucky, staring at his gloved hands, did not. "Worrying about other people, more worthy than me." I reached over and grasped his hand.  
            "There's no-one worthier of my worrying than you," I told him, and he laughed again as I stood up.  
            "You lie very nicely," he said, "but you still lie." He fixed me with a hard stare. "They will need you." I paused, frowning at him.  
            "Who will?" But he shook his head and turned away. Bucky looked up at me and shrugged, then rose smoothly to his feet. But as he took a few steps away and I followed reluctantly, Joey called after us.  
            "Barnes!" Bucky stopped, looking back. "Remember what I said. Look inside." Bucky's face tightened, but he nodded before we walked away and left Joey sitting on the grass, watching wispy clouds pass overhead.

 

We were both silent as we walked back out onto the streets, wandering rather aimlessly back through the main city, busy with our own thoughts. Eventually I spoke up.  
            "Was he always like that?" Bucky shrugged.  
            "To a certain extent," he said. "He went through a lot."  _So did you._  I wanted to say, but I held my tongue. We didn't head back to my apartment, but instead found ourselves in one of the parks, walking around the lake without talking. I was watching the ripples on the water when my phone rang. I could feel it buzzing in my pocket for several seconds before I pulled it out. It was Sam. Though I didn't particularly want to, and was sure that it was a bad idea, I took the call, holding the phone to my ear without saying hello.  
            "Elizabeth! Finally! I've been trying to call you."  
            "I know," I cut him off shortly. He paused, correctly interpreting my tone.  
            "Tell me he's with you."  
            "He's with me." Another pause.  
            "Are you okay?"  
            "I'm perfectly fine."  
            "Beth, I..."  
            "I'll talk to you later." I was about to hang up when Bucky went very still beside me, his head jerking up as his feet stopped moving. I stopped too, turning to watch his eyes flick around as Sam spoke urgently in my ear. Then the first gunshot rang out. Before I even registered the sound, Bucky's metal arm snapped out, pushing me sideways.  
            As a result, I ended up with one foot in the lake, and a line of pain across my arm, rather than a bullet to the heart.  
            I'd barely had time to gasp at the icy water on my foot, and the fiery blood on my arm, when Bucky sprang forwards. Where the gun had been, I don't know. He whipped it out so fast that I couldn't see where it came from. He had squeezed off one round into the trees before the second shot rang out from further to the right. Sam's voice was shouting in my ear, but I ignored him, dropping the phone to the ground as I ducked instinctively. The second bullet seemed to have missed us both, because Bucky was still on his feet, striding forwards as he squeezed off another two shots into the trees. When silence fell, it was ringing. My eyes darted about as my hands trembled with adrenaline. Everything was still. Nothing moved. Not the trees, not the bodies I could now just pick out lying amongst them. Not the man standing in the middle of the grass, gun still raised, waiting. I stepped forwards cautiously, pulling my foot out of the chill water as I glanced around. Nothing. My eyes returned to the man ahead of me.  
            "Bucky?" He didn't turn. Didn't even twitch. I scooped my phone back up from the ground as I took a few hesitant steps towards him. "Bucky?" He whirled around suddenly as I went to take another step and I froze, comically, one foot suspended in mid-air as I looked down the barrel of a gun for the first time in my life. Very deliberately, I raised my eyes to his face, lowering my foot slowly back down. It was definitely Bucky's face that I was looking at, but it wasn't Bucky looking back at me. His expression was hard and cold, calculating as his right hand gripped the gun very tightly, without shaking. I swallowed, but didn't look away.  
            "Nice shooting," I said. His face twitched slightly. "Thank you. For pushing me." Did the gun lower a fraction? I was carefully not looking at it, so it was hard to tell. But I kept talking just in case, barely aware of what was coming out of my mouth. "I'm afraid I feel a little rude. I know who you are, but I haven't got the faintest idea of what to call you." His eyes widened in shock, and then he suddenly staggered backwards, the gun falling to his side as he gasped for air as if surfacing from underwater.  
            "Beth?" Bucky gasped. I leapt forwards, my hand finding his arm.  
            "Are you okay?" I asked at once. He nodded.  
            "What did you do?" He spotted the blood running down my arm. "You're hurt!" I shook my head.  
            "I'm fine. Come on, we need to move." Bucky glanced back over his shoulder, towards the trees, but I pulled him away, and he followed the pressure. Together we ran, crossing the park in seconds and bursting out onto the street. I turned, ready to keep on running, but Bucky's left arm snapped out and pulled me back, matching my pace to his sedate walk. I didn't bother to question him, but kept my eyes down, except for the sweeping glances that I threw at the street. But I couldn't see anyone out of place. We were alright. But even as my breathing slowed, Bucky's hitched. I looked up, my eyes darting desperately to try and find what I'd missed. Nothing. There was nothing. Just ordinary people going about their ordinary lives. I looked sideways at Bucky and my stride faltered a little. He looked different. It was still him, but there was something... something had changed. It was only then that I realised that I'd always walked on Bucky's right side before. Now, standing on his left, I was seeing him from the other side. The realisation had only just flashed through my mind when Bucky put his arm around me. The metal was cool and heavy on my shoulders, even through his jacket.  
            "Put your arm around me," he said, pulling me to his side as he lowered his head towards mine. My arm flared in pain as it was squashed between us, but I ignored it. "Laugh." I did it without question, winding my right arm around his waist and letting out a laugh that was plausibly real, though very different from my own. We'd walked another few paces before Bucky glanced back over his shoulder and let out sharp breath that was nearly a whistle.  
            "Keep walking," he muttered, and we did, our strides matching as we strolled along the pavement like any other couple. Then we rounded a corner. Bucky glanced back again, then stepped away, dropping his arm from around my shoulders.  
            "Let's go," he said, lengthening his stride, pulling away from me. My eyes narrowed as I watched his back retreating. I had long legs too. In seconds I'd drawn level with him again, and we hurried along, eyes on the ground, not quite running, but with plenty to run from.

 

This time, when we reached my apartment block, we took the stairs. I bounded up them, taking two stairs at a time and not even feeling the burn until we reached the third floor. For the last flight, it was pure pride that gave me the strength to keep up the pace. My hands shook as I tried to insert the key into the lock, and it took me a couple of attempts before I managed to get the door open. We both slid inside and shut the door behind us. I sank back against the wood at once, telling myself that it was adrenaline that made my knees tremble, rather than the exertion of the stairs. Bucky didn't even seem to notice. He was striding back and forth in front of the sofa, hands twitching by his sides. I didn't bother watching him any longer, but closed my eyes. I could still hear the gunshots echoing in my ears, and feel the burn across my arm.  
            "What did you do?" I opened my eyes. Bucky was standing in the middle of my living room, glaring at me with a mixture of suspicion, fear and admiration. I frowned at him.  
            "Care to be more specific?" He scowled.  
            "What happened?" He waved a hand at my arm. "You got hurt. And he..." Bucky broke off as I stood upright, considering him.  
            "You don't remember it?" He shook his head, caught between confusion and concern. I sighed and moved across to lean on the kitchen counter instead. "We left Joey and went round the park," I began. He nodded impatiently, his eyes fixed on mine. "There was a gunshot, and you... he... pushed me out of the way. You..." I took a breath and tore my eyes away from his. "He pulled out a gun, and fired back. There was a second shooter. He took him out too."  _Breathe_. "Then he turned around." Bucky let out a breath that was almost a hiss.  
            "Beth, I'm so sorry." I shook my head.  
            "Nothing happened. It's fine. He'd just been shot at, I think it's justified."  
            "But what did you do? He... he ran." I blinked. Was that why Bucky had been so off-balance when he'd come back? He hadn't taken control back for himself; the other one had fled. But why? I raised my eyes to Bucky's, and we frowned at each other. "What did you do?" he repeated.  _What had I done_? I'd been talking to him, but what had I said? Before I could say anything more however, there was the sound of heavy footsteps just outside the door.  
            This time, it was Bucky that drew the gun, and I had time to see it emerged from just under his left arm. I turned and whipped a knife out of the block just behind me, trying to ignore the fact that I had no idea what to do with it. We stood in silence, weapons raised, listening hard. The tiniest whisper of sound, a perfect rhythm of noise, and somehow, I knew what was about to happen.  
            "Don't you dare break down my door!" I snapped, raising my voice. Bucky jerked in surprise.  
            "Beth?" Sam's voice hissed from outside the door. Switching the knife to my left hand, I strode over and threw it open. Steve and Sam were both standing there, watching me with expressions of shock on their faces. I wanted to scream at them, and even had some very bad urges involving the knife in my hand, but I resisted, standing back out of the way. Steve strode inside without even glancing at me, walking straight to Bucky, who'd lowered his gun. Sam came in more slowly, still tense as he glanced into every corner, always returning his eyes to Bucky. He didn't relax the grip on his gun. Trying not to snarl at him, I shut the door and returned the knife to its place on the side.  
            "What happened Buck?" Steve asked, his eyes never leaving the face of the man in front of him. "You just upped and left? I was worried." Bucky couldn't hold his gaze, but dropped his eyes to the floor, shrugging. Steve eyed him for another few seconds before he spoke again, but at least his voice was softer. "What happened? We were on our way when we heard gunshots." Steve glanced round at me for the first time, but even if I'd been inclined to speak, I didn't really know much more than him.  
            "Hydra," Bucky said. "They..." He shot a look at me. "They found us. I don't know how..."  
            "What happened?" Sam asked sharply. I was getting sick of that question. Again Bucky looked at me.  
            "I don't know. I think they're dead, but I didn't check them." As our eyes met, I saw the certainty in his gaze, and knew it was mirrored in my own. He wouldn't have missed.  
            "We have to leave," Sam said immediately.  
            "Not yet," Bucky cut across him, and for the first time, his voice was hard. I was a little rankled to find him glaring at me. "I still want to know what you did." I scowled as I crossed the room so I could face them all at once. Bucky turned, his blue eyes following me.  
            "I talked to him," I said stiffly. Steve and Sam exchanged slightly confused glances.  
            "And he left? Just because of that?"  
            "I don't think he was expecting it." I said, and my eyes darted sideways to the other two as well as I remembered at last what I'd said to him.  _I don't know what to call you_. Had he run from the idea of having a name? That shocked and saddened me simultaneously, and I tried to push the thought from my mind. We all stared at each other for another couple of seconds before Sam broke the silence.  
            "You're hurt."  
            "It'll heal," I said without looking down, even as he took a step forwards. He halted at once at my harsh words, a look of shock on his face. I turned away, glaring out of the window. Time and place, I repeated over and over in my head. Not now, not here.  
            "Let's go," Steve's voice cut across my inner monologue and I looked over my shoulder at the three men. Sam and Steve were already turning towards the door, but Bucky hadn't moved. He was looking from them to me. "Bucky, come on," Steve urged.  
            "No," I said and my voice was hard. Steve looked over at me and blinked.  
            "What?"  
            "He can stay with me." "She's coming with us."  
            We both spoke at the same time, our voices grappling in the air around us as our eyes met. Steve stared. As did Sam. Bucky and I ignored them both, eyes fixed on each other.  
            "Buck..." Steve began, and I could hear the refusal in his tone.  
            "She comes with us," Bucky said, turning to stare his best friend straight in the face. I didn't dare speak.  
            "Bucky, I can't do that," Steve said.  
            "The hell you can't." For a split second, I stared at him, sure that it wasn't Bucky... but his face was just as animated as ever, and his eyes were burning. Steve opened his mouth again, but Sam tapped him on the shoulder, dragging him away towards the door before whispering in his ear. From the looks they both shot towards me, it wasn't hard to judge the subject of their discussion. But I ignored them both, looking only at Bucky, who blinked several times, then returned my gaze, his face steady but nervous. We didn't speak again until Steve turned back to face us, his jaw set.  
            "Alright." He turned his gaze to me. "You're coming." The flare of triumph was like a roar in my chest.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for any typos etc. Credit, as always, to Marvel.  
> Quick reference which, if you're in this fandom, you may (should) have picked up on. Bucky's instructions to Beth as they're running are the same as Natasha's to Steve in TWS. I liked that scene, simply for the way they walk straight past Rumlow's team. Twice. If anyone's wondering if there were actually people there for Bucky and Beth to hide from - yes, there were, but I made the assumption that they would be good at their jobs. And Beth wouldn't know what to be looking for anyway. So. 
> 
> Comments and kudos always welcome.


	7. VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 29/7
> 
> Infinite thanks to ixng for leaving kudos, and again to ShinyBlue for the second lovely comment. It still means the world to me.
> 
> Previously: Beth and Bucky find Joey, get found by Hydra, and another side of Bucky surfaces. Sam and Steve reappear (a little too late), and agree that Beth can come with them.

The car was quiet, though the engine roared as we sped down the highway, away from DC, away from my life. A backpack, which I'd jammed full during the sixty seconds I'd allotted myself, was clenched between my shins. Sam and Steve were sitting in the front seats, and Bucky was beside me in the back, staring out the window, ignoring the low conversation in the front. I was imitating him, to a certain extent, though my ears were wide open, and straining to catch any words I could.  
            "... can't... back there again," Steve said, glancing across at Sam before turning his eyes back to the road.  
            "So where now then?" There wasn't an immediate reply, which made my head twist a little, just to make sure that Steve wasn't talking, just being too quiet for me to hear. But his mouth was tightly shut, his eyes fixed resolutely forwards. I looked away, leaning my head back as the silence persisted, and I closed my eyes.

 

 I came awake with a start at the sound of a car horn. The sun was low in the sky now, the world was illuminated with a redder light. After a quick glance around the car, I returned my attention to the outside and drew in a breath. So many buildings. So many people. So many cars. Leaning close to the window I looked up. And up. The blue and pink sky seemed a long way away, lost between the towering buildings that stretched to the heavens and beyond. Glancing across the back seat, I found Bucky watching me.  
            " _New York?"_  I mouthed, unwilling to break the silence of the car. He grinned at my wonder and nodded. Twisting in my seat, I looked in every direction, fully aware that my eyes were wide as they tried to take in all the sights before me. It was impossible of course, but I did my best.  
            "Steve?" It was Sam's voice, a little strained, that directed my attention back to the interior of the car, and I settled down a bit, my eyes flicking between the two men in the front. Sam wasn't actually looking at Steve, but leaning forwards a little to look out the front windscreen at something high above him. In the back, I couldn't see the object of his contemplation, so had to content myself with alternating glances at the three men. Bucky was also looking out his window, his face was pale but set. Steve's eyes remained on the road, at least until he pulled off and parked neatly in a long empty space at the side of the road. I was suddenly glad of the tinted windows, as the big black car was suddenly drawing looks from the passers-by. Both Sam and Bucky turned their eyes to Steve as he cut the engine, then spoke into the silence.  
            "Call Tony Stark." Bucky twitched beside me, and I spared him a glance before returning my eyes to the rear-view mirror, where I could see Steve's eyes reflected.  
            "Hey Capsicle." The voice that filled the car was unfamiliar, but I couldn't help smirking at his words. Steve ignored it.  
            "Stark. I need a favour."  
            "Ooh, so formal. What's up?"  
            "I, and a couple of friends, need a place to crash."  
            "Right. What happened to your fancy new retreat in the woods?"  
            "Not really an option."  
            "Really? ...Where are you now?"  
            "Outside the Tower."  
            "Huh." There was a slight pause. "You know you don't have to ask my permission anymore. Check out the sign." Steve tilted his head in a  _yeah, but_  kind of way, despite the fact that Stark couldn't see him. "How many friends is 'a couple'?" Steve's eyes flicked up and met mine in the mirror as he hesitated.  
            "Three."  
            "J, you got them?"  
 _"Of course Sir."_  The smooth voice floated through the car, the British accent so similar, and yet so different from mine, hitting me like a punch in the stomach.  
            "Excellent," Stark said, "well, tell everyone I... SHIT!" Four heads jerked up at the curse. Steve's mouth opened, but he snapped it shut. "Gotta go, catch you later." And there was silence. We all exchanged glances.  
            "Well, you heard the man," Steve said, and he slid out of the car. Bucky and I exchanged another look before following him, Sam along with us. Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I slipped around the car to the pavement before I looked up.  
            " _Whoa._ " Even with my neck craned back, the building seemed to rise forever, a spear of glass thrust high in a salute. But I could just about make out the  **A**  at the top. Everything became painfully real to me then, and I had to let out a long breath before I looked back down. It was Bucky's face that made me take the first step towards the huge building.

  

Inside was no less impressive than the exterior, and I had to keep a constant thought in the back of my head to keep my mouth closed so that it didn't drag on the floor as I followed the other three over to the lift.  
            "Jarvis?" Steve asked, as the doors closed behind us.  
 _"Welcome back Captain."_  It was the same voice and I couldn't help glancing up, looking for a speaker.  
            "Is Tony alright?" There was a slight pause, during which we began to move upwards.  
 _"He wishes me to tell you that he's perfectly fine, thank you very much."_  Steve snorted.  
            "Paraphrasing there, Jarvis?"  
 _"Maybe a little,"_  the voice, Jarvis, replied smoothly.  
            "Is anyone else here?" Steve asked, as the doors swung open again, and he lead the way out of the lift into a stunning room.  
            " _Not currently, no,"_  Jarvis answered, his voice now filling the larger space. I gave up on following any form of conversation at that point as I took in the room around me.

 

 It was amazing. Over to the right was a kitchen that my mother would have killed for, with black counters polished to a high shine and white cupboard fronts. But even that couldn't hold my attention for long. I walked without feeling the floor under my feet, floating across the room to the huge glass windows over-looking the city. I don't know how long I stood there.  
            "Beth?" Bucky's voice was cautious. I turned, looking past him to give the room another sweeping gaze before looking at him.  
            "It's a whole other world," I said, and my voice was faint. Bucky's blue eyes moved away from mine, looking past me, and they swept over the city. The motion steadied me, and I took a breath.  
            "Yeah," Bucky said, so quietly I nearly missed it, "it is."  
            "Bedrooms are along there. Pick any one you want," Steve called, waving an arm towards a corridor, and breaking the moment. With one last glance at Bucky I moved away, brushing his arm lightly with my hand as I passed.

 

The corridor was long, with five doors leading off it. One was closed, but the rest stood open, light spilling in from them. I glanced into each as I passed, eventually stopped in front of the second door on the left. The walls were cream, the bed sheets blue, and the window looked straight out down an avenue of tall buildings. Dropping my backpack onto the bed, I moved slowly around the room, my fingers hovering inches away from the pristine surfaces. I wanted to touch, to make sure that it was real, but I was afraid of dirtying the room. The pine furniture, the door leading to a bright, white bathroom, it all seemed unearthly somehow. Or maybe it was just that my head was still spinning. It was so quiet, so still. I came to a stop in front of the window, looking out on the busy, bustling street. It seemed very far away.  
            "Beth?" I leapt a foot into the air as I whirled around.  
            "Jesus Christ Bucky!" He was standing right in the doorway, looking bemused and a little alarmed. I hadn't heard a sound of his approach. "Are you a cat or something?"  
            "Sorry," he murmured, but I shook my head.  
            "It's okay. What's up?" He shrugged.  
            "Nothing. Just checking you were okay," I grinned.  
            "You saw me five seconds ago. I'm fine, it's just a lot to take in." His face shut down so fast it was like a guillotine descending.  
            "Yeah, right, of course," he said, and though his tone was flat, I fancied I could see a hint of anger in his face. He turned away, disappearing from the doorway in an instant.  
            "Bucky?" I crossed the room at a run, swinging round the door frame to the left, only to be faced with an empty corridor. The single door further along was shut. I stood, motionless, considering.  
            Had he just been checking again, and been offended at my lack of appreciation? Or had he forgotten our last encounter, almost as if he hadn't been present for it...? Could it have been the other one, and I hadn't noticed? For a moment, I considered going after him, but decided against it. He needed to be able to sort this out on his own at some stage, and he knew how to find me. I hadn't come here to baby him. That wasn't what he needed. So I turned away, retreating back into my room, and closing the door, taking a few much needed solitary minutes.

 

 At first, when I returned to the lounge, I thought it was empty. But then I saw Sam's head over the back of one of the sofas. I walked past him, towards the window, and a flash of movement drew my attention outside, where Steve was pacing back and forth on the balcony, talking into a phone. I turned my back on him, leaning on the wall as I fixed my gaze on Sam. He looked up at me and blinked. We both knew that in that instant, I wasn't looking at my boss.  
            "So," I said, "are you going to tell me how you ended up hanging around with the Avengers?" Sam didn't look away, his dark eyes fixed on mine.  
            "It's a long story," he replied.  
            "I get the feeling we've got time," I shot back. He huffed, but opened his mouth. Before he could speak, however, movement behind him caught my eye, and I looked up as Bucky took another cautious step forwards. Sam noticed my shift in attention, and looked round. He nodded perfectly amicably to Bucky, but his hand drifted to his ankle. Bucky's eyes didn't shift. His return nod was perfectly sincere. But I knew that he'd seen. It was as if I was watching a part of him die. That was what it meant to live without hope.

 

 I pushed off the wall with my foot, perhaps using a little more force than was strictly necessary. The bang made both men look round at me.  
            "Sam, a word," I spat, striding away without bothering to look if he followed. Choosing a random door, I shouldered it open, relieved that it wasn't locked, and pleased to find a deserted corridor behind it. I held the door open, my hand shaking, until Sam had joined me, before slamming it shut.  
            "Beth, what..."  
            "What the hell was that?" I spat, towering over his pitiful 5'10". Again, he tried to speak, but I didn't give him the opportunity. "Checking your weapon the second you see it's him? What the  _fuck_  Sam!?"  
            "Beth!" I drew in an angry breath, and he took his chance. "What's this about?"  
            "You should know better," I snarled at him. "Do you think he hasn't noticed!?"  
            "He's dangerous." I let out a bark of mirthless laughter.  
            "That's all you could say last time too. Is that really all you can see? All that work at the VA, and you can't see that he's trying  _so fucking hard_."  
            "And we're trying to help him! Even though he did his best to kill us. Twice!" Sam was angry now too, but I was past anger, and I took a step back before I could pass reason and do something that I, with my non-existent combat training, would regret.  
            "Really? Do you think that's helping him?" I demanded. "Because it looks to me like your  _help_  is pushing him backwards. All you're doing is reminding him of what he used to be, every time he walks into a room. It's your  _help_  that sent him to my door at 3 in the morning!"  
            "It's not every time!" It was a pitiful excuse, and I knew I'd won, but I wasn't ready to back down.  
            "Oh really? Because that's what he told me, and I believe that he'd notice every single one!" Sam was silent and I took a second to breath, trying to calm myself. And when I spoke again, it was in a more reasonable tone. "Even if it wasn't always you, it would have been someone. What do you think it does to him Sam? To know that everyone's waiting for him to fail?" We stared at each other. I hoped that he understood, finally, what I was trying to say. He was so good with the veterans. He'd always understood. Why was it so difficult for him to do the same for Bucky?

  

I left him standing in the corridor, stalking through the door and shutting it behind me before looking up. He was sitting on the sofa, head in his hands.  
            "Bucky?" His head twitched slightly, but he didn't look up. I crossed the room on quiet feet and crouched down in front of him, waiting. It only took a couple of seconds before two blue eyes appeared through cracks in his fingers.  
            "You can hold a pretty decent shouting match," he said, his voice muffled behind his hands.  
            "I'm going to take that as a compliment," I said with dignity, before shifting to sit beside him just as the door opened again. We both looked round as Sam walked over and took a seat opposite us, leaning forwards on his knees. Bucky dropped his hands to watch him properly, as Sam's eyes darted between us, before fixing on Bucky.  
            "I'm sorry." I wanted to shout and jump in the air with delight, but contained myself to a small smile, that I hid as best I could by glancing down. Bucky shook his head.  
            "Twice," he said, very quietly, and we both frowned at him.  
            "What?"  
            "Twice," he repeated, louder this time, staring at Sam. "You said I tried to kill you twice. What was the second time?" Sam's eyes flickered between us again before he answered.  
            "On the Insight helicarriers. You... you ripped off one of my wings."  _One of your_   _what_? But my questions weren't a priority right now. Bucky was frowning down at his hands now, one still encased in a glove.  
            "Then... what was the first time?"  
            "On the highway." I looked round, startled. I hadn't heard Steve come back in. Bucky didn't move at all, apparently unsurprised. Steve moved around to lean against the wall in the spot I'd vacated, looking down on his friend, who was still staring at his hands. "You don't remember?" Bucky shook his head. Steve sighed. It was quiet, but still audible. I glared at him, totally ready to have another round of shouting, but as if he'd know what I was thinking, Bucky reached out, crossing his right hand over his left to grasp my fingers. I squeezed back, lowering my gaze. Another time then.  
            "I'm sorry about your wings." Bucky looked up at Sam, who blinked, taken aback.  
            "S'okay man. Tony built me a new set, and even upgraded a few things, so no worries." Bucky looked back up at Steve.  
            "What did you tell him?"  
            "Don't worry about it Buck." But Bucky shook his head, his grip tightening momentarily on my hand.  
            "You've been saying that for three weeks," he said stonily. Steve's eyes flicked to me. I raised an eyebrow.  
            "Would you like me to step outside?" I asked, in an exceptionally bored voice. "Or shall we stop pretending that I'm not part of this?" Steve frowned at me, then looked determinately back at Bucky.  
            "I haven't told anyone else about you," he said. "Natasha knows, but she doesn't know that we've found you. She thinks that Sam and I are tracking down a lead." Sam craned his neck back round to look at him.  
            "You know that's not going to keep her much longer." Steve sighed, and nodded.  
            "Natasha?" Bucky asked.  
            "Natasha Romanoff. Black Widow. She was with us on the highway," Sam said.  
            "She also said you... encountered each other a few years ago. Near Odessa. Something about a nuclear scientist," Steve added hesitantly. Bucky frowned again.  
            "Odessa." His face tensed then cleared. " '09." He looked up at Steve. "Red hair." Steve nodded and Bucky looked away. He still hadn't let go of my hand. "She survived?" Steve nodded again. Sam didn't seem to fully understand this either, but we could both make the fairly easy deduction of what had happened. Beside me, Bucky twitched, his left arm jerking suddenly and his right hand clenched on mine. I drew in a silent breath but the pain was gone at once as he relaxed his grip.  
            "No-one else?" Bucky asked, without looking up, but his voice was suddenly wooden.  
            "No," Steve said, and his gaze was sharp and concerned as he eyed Bucky's bowed head. "I wanted to give you... time. If you need it." Bucky nodded, then stood up very suddenly. His hand was gone from mine so fast that my wrist moved, still trying to compensate for the pressure of its presence.  
            "Good," he said, and his eyes didn't leave Steve until he turned and strode away, back towards the bedrooms.

 

We were silent in the wake of his departure, which seemed to still be sending ripples through us. I stood up, and though I wasn't as tall as Steve, I could look him in the eye without looking up.  
            "Where did you think this was going to end up?" I asked him wearily. "What are you going to do when, if, he's ready? Are you going to tell everyone you've been hiding him for a month because you thought he might go on a murderous rampage?"  
            "I didn't..." Steve began, but I lifted my chin and fixed him with an angry stare, and his voice tailed off.  
            "Did you say you want him to go on a mission with you?" The pair of them gaped at me.  
            "What?" Steve gasped. "No, of course not, I'd never ask that of him." But Sam's eyes suddenly widened.  
            "Oh, God. He was listening." We both turned to him. "We were wondering if he would feel better if he came with us. If he wanted to hit back at Hydra." Steve gaped.  
            "Oh." I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.  
            "You need to watch your words a little more carefully. Why does he think that you're waiting for someone else to look out of his eyes? Why does he know that you're waiting for your friend to come back?" I raised a shaking finger and pointed it down the empty hallway when Bucky had disappeared. "He's doing his best. And all you do is remind him that it's not enough for you." With that, I turned on my heel and strode away, leaving the two men in silence behind me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to Marvel.
> 
> Wow. Two weeks (nearly). *sighs* I'm sorry this chapter took me so long, and while I have a long line of excuses, from my sister coming to visit, to starting a new job, they all basically boil down to not giving this the time it deserves, or the time I would like to have given it. For that I apologise, and chapter updates could be a little slower than I hoped from now on (insert more excuses). Again, I'm sorry .  
> On a happier note, this is where everything started for me; OFC kicking off at Steve/Sam about Bucky, so it was great to finally get to write a little of the explosions in my head. The more I write of Beth, the stronger she gets for me.  
> While it seems like ages ago now (because someone took so long to update) I do want to mention the Ant-man end credit scene. No, I haven't seen the movie, yes I have seen those 40 seconds. But the point is, this story isn't meant to be a "what happens in Civil War" sort of thing. I DON'T WANT this to happen, for Steve and Sam to go wrong, for Bucky to be struggling. I hope they work, and Bucky and Steve work together again. I want happily ever after, and rainbows and kittens, and for Bucky to make it through. So I thought I'd mention that, while I thought of it.


	8. VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3/8  
> Thanks to the guest who left kudos since the last chapter, it means a lot. 
> 
> Previously: The foursome arrive at the Avengers Tower, and Beth lets Sam and Steve know exactly what she's thinking.

It was only four extra strides past my bedroom to get to the door of Bucky's. I knocked, unsure of whether to be gentle, or just pound on the door.  
            "Bucky. Bucky, open up." I fancied that I heard movement on the other side of the door, but it didn't open. I rattled the handle, but it was locked, and wouldn't budge. This time, I hammered on the door. "Bucky!" No response. I took a step back and stared at the immovable slab of wood. "Jarvis?"  
            " _Yes ma'am._ " The voice answered me at once.  
            "Is he listening?"  
            " _I am unfamiliar with Sergeant Barnes' full capabilities, but he does appear to be listening, yes._ "  
            "Good. Can you unlock the door?"  
            " _I'm afraid not. There_ is _an electronic lock, but the manual lock is engaged, and I am unable to deactivate it._ " I sighed, thinking. " _However._ " I waited. " _There is a spot on the right hand side of the door which, if forced with enough pressure, should cause the lock to fail._ " I smiled.  
            "Perfect. Where exactly..." There was a click, and the door opened. Bucky glowered at me, and I raised an eyebrow. "May I come in?" I asked, in my politest voice. He shook his head wryly, but stood back. I walked forwards into the room, then turned to watch him shut the door. He didn't lock it.  
            "Are you okay?" I asked. He nodded, but didn't meet my gaze. "Why did you say good?" He looked past me, out the window at the darkening sky and shrugged.  
            "He's right. You're right," he said, and I couldn't pick out a single emotion from his voice. "It's safer this way, isn't it?"  
            "Safer for who?" I shot back. He looked away, then grimaced suddenly. "Bucky, what's going on?"  
            "He's fighting," he replied shortly. We were both silent for a long second.  
            "Steve and Sam... they don't know about him? You haven't told them?" He shook his head. "What's changed?" I murmured, half to myself. "Why's he fighting now?" Bucky shrugged.  
            "I don't know. I think... I'm worried..." he paused, and I looked up at him. "What if it's Steve?"  
            "Steve?"  
            "That was his last mission. What if he's trying to finish it? To get to him?" My eyes widened.  
            "You think he wants to kill Steve?" He winced at the very thought, and shook his head.  
            "I don't know," he growled. "I don't know what he's doing."  
            "So talk to him." He shook his head emphatically.  
            "No."  
            "Why not?"  
            "Because he shouldn't be here! He's not real! If I talk to him..."  
            "You think talking to him is going to make him more real?" I frowned slightly at the carpet. "I don't think it works like that, Bucky. He's here." He wouldn't meet my gaze. "Come here," I said, walking over to the bed and sitting down on the end. He followed and sank down beside me. "How long has he been fighting you?" Bucky shrugged, tracing the fingers of his right hand of the back of his gloved left one.  
            "On and off, since... always."  
            "Okay. When did it get worse?" He shrugged again.  
            "During one of your shouting matches I guess."  
            "How often does he do this?" Another shrug.  
            "Every couple of days or so." I frowned, thinking.  
            "You said that he was quieter around me?" Bucky looked up but, thankfully, didn't shrug.  
            "When did I say that?" I raised an eyebrow.  
            "When you came to my flat at whatever hour in the morning? And fell asleep on my sofa?"  
            "Oh."  
            "You  _were_  half asleep." He made a non-committal noise and looked away, out of the window at the darkening sky, and the illuminated city, then nodded slowly.  
            "He was quieter. But now..."  
            "And you think it's because of Steve?" His left hand clenched suddenly into a fist in his lap, and he jerked his right hand back from it. We both stared down at the tight, angry digits. "Have you ever thought about letting him out?" Bucky's head snapped round and he gaped at me.  
            "Are you  _insane_?" I pulled a slight face.  
            "Good question. If I ever find out, I'll let you know," I said lightly. Bucky stood up.  
            "That's not funny," he said, and his voice was hard and cold as he began pacing up and down. "Don't you understand? Don't you realise what he's done?"  
            "I know exactly what he's done." I said calmly. "He pointed a gun at me and didn't pull the trigger. He stood feet away from Steve and _did nothing_." I watched him striding back and forth. "I'm not suggesting we shove him in front of Steve with a loaded gun," I said, "I'm just asking if you'd thought about it." He stopped pacing and swung round to look me full in the face.  
            "Thought about it? I can't stop thinking about it. You have  _no idea_! I have to be ready all the time. I can't forget for a second, I can't ever let my guard down, because I know what he can do if he gets out."  
            "What he  _can_  do." I repeated. "You don't know what he  _will_  do." He let out a bark of laughter without any amusement.  
            "And you think everything will be okay? Just give him free reign and see what happens? Or maybe you think you've got some kind of connection to him? That he wouldn't hurt you?" I leapt up too.  
            "Don't you  _dare!_ " I snarled. "I know what he can do. I'm not stupid, and I'm under no illusions. I didn't actually have to do anything in the park. I didn't have to talk him down, or persuade him not to hurt me. All I did was look at him like a normal person. Do you think anyone else has ever done that? Steve, or Sam, or Natasha? When he was Hydra's puppet? Doing nothing but take orders, without even thinking about them? Or now? With you hating him every second of every day? He slept through most of the world. All he ever saw was blood, and pain, and death. Is it any wonder that's all he knows?" For a second, we stared at each other, then his left arm twitched, and his face went utterly blank.  
            I recognised the expression.

 

"Are you trying to have an argument with everyone in the building?" He asked me.  
            "It seems like it," I said, without moving a muscle. "Jarvis, do you want to be next?"  
            " _Preferably not,_ " Jarvis replied, and he kept his voice quiet.  
            "Fair enough," I said, without taking my eyes from the man in front of me. "Lock the door though would you?" He didn't reply, but the blue eyes holding mine flicked away from me for a second, looking towards the door.  
            "What do you think I'll do?" he asked me, his voice low and almost curious.  
            "That's not for you," I lied, "I just don't want the others barging in here." His eyes narrowed as he contemplated me, then his eyes drifted away, taking in the room, and pausing again on the door. "You ran," I said, before I could stop myself. His eyes snapped back to mine. "When I asked what to call you. You ran." Once more, his eyes did a circuit of the room. "Is it such a hard question?"  
            "It's not one I've ever been asked before," he said slowly, without looking at me. His left arm flexed slightly as he turned to glanced through the other door, into the bathroom. I waited, but he didn't say anything else.  
            "What were you asked?" Again, blue eyes touched on my brown, and this time they stayed.  
            "Not much. They just pulled the strings." I didn't look away, and his eyes bored into mine. "How did you know?" he asked, so quietly I almost missed it. "Everything you said." I shrugged.  
            "It wasn't a hard guess. Given... everything." He scoffed, looking away again.  
            "You don't know what I've done. They don't know." He waved his left hand towards the door. " _He_ doesn't know." His hand flicked upwards to his own temple.  
            "Why not?" I asked. "Why do you know what's happening when he's in charge, but he won't remember any of this?" His face twitched in distaste as his eyes performed yet another sweep of the room.  
            "He doesn't want to," he said simply. "He's scared of what I've done."  
            "He's blocking it?" He shrugged, looking so much like Bucky that I had to blink.  
            "I guess," he said. "He tries to come back, to regain control, but he doesn't try to see everything that happened when he was... gone."  
            "So all that time, when you were..." I halted, unsure of how to phrase it, and he raised an eyebrow, a small smile curving his mouth as he waited. It wasn't an expression I'd ever seen on Bucky's face. "When you were working for Hydra, he wasn't there? In your head?" He shook his head.  
            "No. Not until..." He glanced again towards the door.  
            "Steve," I finished. "He brought Bucky back." His eyes didn't move and I too looked towards the door. "Is he right?" I asked bluntly. "Do you want to kill him?"  
            "Isn't that the question?" he whispered, without moving his eyes. And someone knocked on the door.  
            "Hey Bucky, we're ordering pizza, you in?" Steve called through the door. He moved. Nothing more than a twitch, but I leapt forwards, covering the floor in one long stride to plant myself directly between him and the door. We stared at each other.  
            "We'll be right there," I called over my shoulder, without breaking eye contact. We stayed silent and I heard the sound of Steve's feet retreating back down the hall. Slowly, I lowered my arms from where I'd flung them out to the sides. His eyes tracked the movement down before returning to my face. There was a wariness between us now. I could see it in his face, feel it in my stomach.  
            He had moved. Not much, barely even a step, but he had moved. And I had moved to stop him. Somehow, it seemed to speak more than it should have. I took a step backwards, towards the door.  
            "Why do you fight him?" I asked, knowing that time was short, but unable to stop myself. He gave me a quick, calculating look before he replied.  
            "I don't want to fade away, to disappear. He was gone. For so long. I'm here too," he said eventually.  _You don't want to die_. I filled in. It gave me hope.  
            "I still don't have anything to call you," I said, turning away and reaching towards the door.  
            "Puppet." I froze.  _Puppet._  Very, very slowly, I turned back around.  
            "You're joking." He raised an eyebrow, and I shook my head. "That's not funny."  
            "It wasn't meant to be," he said.  
            "You can't be serious."  
            "Can't I?" I felt like I was falling backwards, though the room didn't move.  
            "Is that what you want? To be that again? Do you want that life back?"  
            "No," he said, a bite in his voice, "I kept us safe too. When he didn't know what to do or where to run, when he couldn't handle it, I kept us going. Kept us hidden, away from  _them_."  
            "Then why?" He shrugged. "I don't like it," I said, and he gave a wicked grin.  
            "I do." I glared at him, jaw clenched, face set.  
            "I need Bucky back," I spat out. "They're waiting." The grin faded at once. He watched me for another second, then looked away.  
            It was Bucky who looked back at me.

 

"You okay?" I asked, my voice a little gentler. He nodded.  
            "What happened?" I shrugged.  
            "Not much," I lied, "Steve said they're getting pizza. They're waiting for us." Bucky's face whitened.  
            "Steve? Is he.. did anything..." I shook my head.  
            "Steve's fine. He didn't do anything." Bucky nodded, clearly relieved, but the worry didn't fade from his expression as he examined my face.  
            "Are you okay?" I nodded, turning away.  
            "Jarvis? The door?" Standing much closer, I heard the slight click as it unlocked. "Thanks," I said, pulling it open and starting down the corridor. Bucky caught up with me as I passed my bedroom but I knew I wasn't ready. I stopped, with an approximation of a smile on my face.  
            "Go on. I'll be right there," I said.  
            "Are you sure?" Bucky asked, his eyes darting over my face, and my false smile.  
            "Yeah. I just need a minute. Tell them 'anything without mushrooms'." He nodded and walked on alone. I slipped into my bedroom and closed the door behind me with shaking hands.  _Puppet_. Of all the things I'd expected to come out of his mouth, that had not been one of them. What had he meant by it? He'd said that he didn't want to go back to being  _that_  again, and I believed him, so what was he thinking?  _Puppet._  I strode into the bathroom and shut the door firmly behind me. Leaning on the sink, I stared down, trying to breathe, just breathe. I looked up and my reflection was blurry.  _Stop it._  I told myself firmly.  _You don't have time for this, get it together_. I stood utterly immobile, my expression stony and still, staring at my own face until my vision cleared.  _Puppet._  Only after a full minute had passed did I look away from my own gaze. Breathing again, I washed my face off and strode purposefully across the room to the door. But my hand, though it rested on the handle, didn't turn it.  _Puppet.  
_             " _Ma'am? Is everything alright?_ "  
            "I'm fine Jarvis," I said, without moving my hand, or my gaze. "And it's Elizabeth, or Beth, not ma'am."  
            " _As you wish_." But I still didn't move.  _Puppet._  
            "Enough," I whispered, and pulled the door open.

 

Dinner was a little awkward. After exploding at Steve and Sam so recently, I didn't want to meet their eyes, and Bucky was out of the question, though I could feel his gaze upon me often enough. I alternated between keeping my eyes firmly on my pizza, looking of the window, and watching Steve's hands as they transferred slice after slice of pizza to his mouth. At first, when I saw the stack of four huge boxes that Sam balanced in his arms, I was rather apprehensive about the chances of us finishing it. But as I watched Steve work his way steadily through two of them, and Bucky nearly finishing another whole one himself, my doubts evaporated. I only managed six slices, alternating between pepperoni and margarita, carefully avoiding the vegetarian in the middle that was contaminated with mushrooms, and not bothered enough to reach down the other end for some hawaiian. Sam did better, but nowhere near the scale of the other two, who just kept on going until all the boxes were practically licked clean. Even with all the awkward silences, my heart hummed a little to see Bucky eat so much.1  
            The sky outside the window was totally dark by the time we were done, and I was fighting back a yawn. Had it really only been this morning when Bucky had turned up outside my flat? When we'd seen Joey? When I'd been shot? The dull ache of my arm confirmed the last one. And Joey's unintelligible words rang clearly in my head. ' _They'll need you._ '  
            "Bucky?" I looked up in time to see Steve jerk his head and out of the corner of my eye, registered the movement of Bucky's nod. They both walked out onto the balcony, leaving Sam and I with the empty boxes. For a moment I wondered what they were talking about. Hopefully Steve was apologising. I yawned as Sam and I folded the pizza boxes up and stacked them on the end of the counter. Sam glanced around as I slipped off my seat and stretched.  
            "I wonder where the recycling is?" he mused.  
            "You can't recycle pizza boxes," I said absently even as I grinned at the thought of Tony Stark's recycling, "can't get the grease out of the cardboard."  
            "Really?" I looked over at him and shrugged.  
            "In the UK anyway." I yawned again. "Maybe it's different here. I'll see you in the morning." Sam nodded, still staring at the boxes, as I padded down the corridor and into my room, closing the door carefully behind me. But I didn't lock it. With a sigh, I moved across to my backpack and pulled out my pyjamas, but then paused, staring at the wall separating my room from Bucky's.  _Well._  I thought to myself.  _That makes four out of four. Maybe I am trying to shout at everyone in the building._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit, as always, goes to Marvel.
> 
> Luckily, this chapter was much easier to write than VII, which had me struggling for a long time.  
> I'm hoping to bring in a couple more of the Avengers soon, which should be lots of fun.  
> Thanks for reading, any comments are welcome and warmly received, and kudos are much appreciated.


	9. IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 16/8  
> Thanks to SqueakyTiki and the 4 guests who have left kudos since the last update, each and everyone of them means so much to me. Also, infinite and unreserved thanks yet again to ShinyBlue for their comment, and yes, I will continue to thank you for every single one.
> 
> Previously: Beth shouts a little bit more. Bucky's other side chooses a name and Beth is not pleased. Everybody eats pizza.

I awoke early the next morning, so suddenly and completely that I knew there was no point try to go back to sleep. So I got up, as quietly as I could, and padded on light feet down towards the kitchen. The sun was just rising, bathing the room in golden light, and the city was starting to come awake below me.  
            " _Is there anything I can help you with?_ " I smiled wryly at his vigilance.  
            "I'm fine Jarvis, just had a rather long nap yesterday and not that tired anymore." I stood in silence for another couple of seconds. "Is anyone else up?"  
            " _Not currently. Though I believe Captain Rogers often rises early._ " I couldn't stop the small smile even as I shook my head.  
            "Of course he does. Military man."  
            " _I believe they are all military men._ "  
            "I suppose they are," I agreed. "Jarvis. I want to thank you for helping me yesterday evening. With the door. And Bucky." He didn't reply immediately, but I could almost feel him in the air around me.  
            " _You're welcome_ ," he said finally. Somehow, I ended up sitting cross legged on the floor in front of the window, staring at nothing, and thinking of less.  
            "Is there a stereo around here?" I asked after several minutes.  
            " _Yes. I can access it for you,_ " I hummed thoughtfully, closing my eyes.  
            "Is there any Simon and Garfunkel?"  
            " _I can find some. Any particular tracks?_ " I laughed at his reply.  
            "Not the usual huh?" I said, without opening my eyes. "Can you get The Boxer? And Bridge over Troubled Waters? And The Sound of Silence?"  
            " _Shall I put them in a new playlist?_ "  
            "Good idea. I'll probably be adding more stuff," I said. So it came to be that I sat with my back against a wall, looking sideways over New York city, listening to a fairly random assortment of music being played by Tony Stark's AI butler. It wasn't somewhere I'd ever thought my life would end up.

 

It was another hour before I heard a door opening and looked round. Sam wandered into the room, then did a double take when he noticed me. Jarvis stopped the music without me having to ask as I pushed upright, wincing as my numb legs tingled.1  
            "Morning," I said.  
            "You're up early," Sam said, walking to the kitchen and switching on the coffee machine.  
            "So are you," I replied, following him and leaning against the counter, watching as he pulled out a mug and shaking my head when he held up a second with a questioning expression.  
            "Listen," he said, "about Bucky..." I waited. "It's not that I... We just... I didn't mean..."  
            "Stop," I said, and he ceased at once, eyes down. "Sam." His eyes darted up to meet mine then flicked away again. I waited until he held my gaze. "I understand. You look at him with expectations. You met him as a threat, so that's what you see, and you can't help that. Hopefully, it will change, but just noticing it is a start." He looked away, turning to fill up his mug with coffee and lingering with the pot, as if avoiding turning back round. When he did, he was watching me shrewdly over the lip of his mug.  
            "Why you?" I raised an eyebrow, and he elaborated. "Why did he run back to you? How did you even find him?" I shook my head.  
            "I don't know Sam. I don't think it's  _me_  exactly. But I never knew him before. I didn't know the old Bucky, or Sergeant Barnes, or The Winter Soldier. So he could be someone new. Anyone he wanted. Himself."  
            "You don't think he can be himself here?" I fixed him with my best disappointed look.  
            "What's the point of me shouting if you don't listen?" He had the grace to drop his gaze.  
            "How did you find him?" he asked, before the silence could stretch. "Steve and I were trying to track him down for months."  
            "He was having a panic attack in the middle of the street," I said casually. Sam choked on a mouthful of coffee and I grinned.  
            "You're kidding?" Sam spluttered. I shook my head.  
            "Total coincidence. Right place, right time."  
            "Some coincidence," Sam muttered, and I scowled at him. But movement from the doorway distracted me before I could scold him. Bucky stood there, watching us. He might have said something then, but I couldn't register the sound, let alone interpret it. Because he was wearing blue jeans and a short sleeved t-shirt. I couldn't take my eyes off his arm. It shone in the morning light, the golden sunlight refracting off many metal plates, joined seamlessly into a perfect mirror of his other limb. So many times I'd bitten my tongue so I wouldn't ask to see it, and now there it was. I tried to meet Bucky's eyes, but my eyes just kept flickering back down to his arm.  
            "Ah... I'll... um. I'll put a sweater on," he said.  
            "No." It was nearly a growl that escaped me, before he could turn away. "Please. Can I see?" My eyes darted once more to his face, then back down. He walked forwards slowly until he was mere feet away, and his arm continued to glitter in the light. I could barely breathe, that simple action escaping me. I raised one trembling hand, then paused.  
            "May I?" I breathed, and this time my eyes managed to stay on his face. He nodded. Sam was so quiet he might as well have not been there. I reach out, and my fingers came into contact with the smooth, cool metal.  
            "OW!" I leapt a foot backwards as Bucky and Sam both dissolved into laughter.  
            "You..." I glared at both of them, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that I was desperately trying not to smile myself. "That was not funny," I said. Sam howled even louder, and Bucky grinned at me, his eyes twinkling.  
            "Yes it was," he said amicably, then turned a little, offering his arm to me again. "Go on."  
            "It doesn't hurt?" I asked, edging closer. Sam snorted into his coffee and Bucky shrugged. "That's not a no," I pointed out, even as I laid my palm on his arm, running my fingers lightly over the joins in the plates. The metal twitched, and I heard a fair whirring noise as it shifted. "Can you feel anything?" I asked, as my fingers walked up to his elbow. His mouth twitched as he stared down at the metal between us.  
            "Some," he murmured. "I can feel pressure, when I'm touching something, but not reliably. And I don't feel textures, or temperature." I paused as my fingers brushed over the red star on his shoulder, half hidden under his t-shirt. My eyes flicked up to his, which were fixed on the bloody symbol. The distaste was clear on his face. "I couldn't get it off," he murmured, so quietly that Sam, who was fiddling with the coffee machine, couldn't hear. I covered the red mark with my palm and his eyes raised to mine.  
            "We'll find a way," I promised him quietly before gripping his hand lightly. He didn't return the pressure, but smiled a little as I stepped away.  
            "Who wants toast?" Sam said, pulling plates from a cupboard.  
            "Please," I said, moving round the island and opening cupboards, looking for bread.  
            I had to pause as I opened the first one to find boxes of Cap'n Crunch, but with pictures of Steve in his Captain America uniform stuck over the box. Somehow I managed to close the cupboard without laughing, but it was a close thing. Sam had found the bread already, so I went on a cutlery hunt instead.  
            "How many?" Sam asked us.  
            "Just one please," I replied.  
            "Bucky?"  
            "Two. Thanks." His voice was still quiet, and I glanced over as I deposited knives on the counter. He was still looking down at his arm, his face still. Feeling my gaze, he looked up. I put my fingers on either side of my mouth, pulling it up into a ridiculously wide smile. It had the desired effect. He grinned. Still smiling, I turned away, pouring myself a glass of orange juice and passing another mug to Sam for Bucky's coffee. The first lot of toast had just popped up when Bucky's head turned. I looked up and heard the sound of a door closing before Steve's voice drifted along the corridor.  
            "No Nat, it's not a–" he cut off as he rounded the corner and glanced over at the three of us before turning away. "Yes, I know exactly how long it's been." He paced back and forth along the wall and our eyes followed him. "No, I just... That's not a good idea right now... No I don't want you to..."  
            "Let her come." Our heads turned. Steve even stopped his pacing.  
            "Hang on." He lowered the phone from his ear. "Buck?  
            "Just... let her come Steve."  
            "Are you sure?" Steve asked, not taking his eyes off his friend. Bucky nodded, his face set. I looked between them, my mouth firmly shut. Bucky's eyes flickered to mine as Steve raised his phone again. "Okay," he said, "we're at the Tower. Yeah." He glanced back up at Bucky. "Yes. We did." He rolled his eyes as he turned away. "Yes... Yeah, okay." He hung up but didn't turn round immediately. Bucky's eyes met mine again. I wanted to say something reassuring, so tell him that it would all be okay. But my own stomach was churning, I could only imagine what his was doing.  
            "You sure about this, Buck?" Steve asked again as he came over to us. Bucky shrugged, looking a little sick.  
            "Gotta happen sooner or later," he said. Steve let it drop and we went back to our toast in silence. I only saw it out of the corner of my eye when Bucky's arm twitch. Thinking nothing of it, I kept my eyes down, until I realised that he had stopped eating. Then I looked up. He was staring down at his toast, but not as if he really saw it. I felt as though something had lodged in my throat. There was no door between him and Steve now. But when he finally raised his gaze, his eyes rested on Steve for only a second before travelling away, over Sam, and onto me.  _Puppet._  I raised an eyebrow, then jerked my head lightly towards the other two. His face darkened, and he looked back down. Bucky started eating again. I took another bite of my toast too, hoping the other two hadn't noticed.

 

Nothing more happened until we'd all finished eating. I was just sliding my plate onto the counter over the dishwasher when there was a crash from behind me. I whirled at once, scenarios flashing across my mind. _What if...?_  Everything was completely still. No-one moved. Not Steve, or Sam. Not Bucky, standing completely frozen over the remains of a smashed plate.  _Oh God,_  was my first thought, n _ot now Puppet, please not now._  He might have been alright earlier, and had backed down rather than expose himself to Steve and Sam, but I didn't want to imagine what would happen if a Puppet who'd just been spooked by a loud noise came bursting out. My hands clenched on nothing as he raised his head.  
            "Sorry," Bucky said. I nearly laughed with relief. Certainly the breath that left me was uneven, wavering in the air. Steve, having no idea of how bad the situation might have become, shook his head gently.  
            "It's fine Buck. Don't worry about it." Bucky nodded, but still didn't move, perhaps because of all the broken shards of china around his feet.  
            "Jarvis, is there a dustpan anywhere around here?" I asked.  
            " _Not to worry. Someone is coming up_."  
            "Someone?" Bucky repeated cautiously, just as the lift doors opened. We both looked round and watched as something wheeled its way out of the lift. It was clearly some sort of robot, rolling along on a platform, and clutching a broom in a pincer-like hand. I stared, unable to think of anything to say as it rolled over and began sweeping up the broken china, in an awkward, jerky way. All it could really do was push it around, without a dustpan, or indeed a second arm with which to hold it. Bucky had backed away before it got close, keeping a firm distance between himself and the robot as he eyed it suspiciously. Steve shook his head.  
            "Only Stark." I heard him mutter. After a glance at Bucky, which confirmed my thought that he was okay really, I turned and ducked down, opening the cupboard under the sink. And what do you know. Tony Stark isn't so different from the rest of us. There's a small dustpan and brush hiding at the back of a box of cleaning supplies. Whether or not Stark has ever used them is another matter. With a slight grin at the thought, I pulled out the pan, and shuffled over, carefully of where I put my feet, and crouched down to help the robot clear up.

 

Only when every sparkling bit of china had been swept carefully up and deposited in the bin did the robot roll slowly off to the lift and disappear.  
            "Never mind, Buck. Stuff happens," Steve said reassuringly.  
            "Eventually," he muttered, almost to himself. Steve's head snapped up.  
            "What?"  
            "It had to happen eventually," Bucky said, his voice louder. "He... he said that. All the time... He..." He was almost panting in effort as he stared at Steve, and Steve stared straight back. "Jim," Bucky spat out, "Jim Morita." Steve's face split into a grin as he nodded.  
            "You remember him?"  
            "I... yes... no..." Bucky shook his head, like a dog trying to shake itself dry. "I can't remember his face. Just his voice."  
            "There are pictures..." Steve began hesitantly. "If you wanted to..." Bucky's head snapped up, and the expression of shock and hope on it made something in my chest tighten. He nodded. Steve mirror the action without appearing to realise it, his face thoughtful. "I think I've got some here, unless..." His head suddenly turned. "Jarvis, have you got..."  
            " _Of course Captain,_ " came the reply, and a screen winked into life on the wall behind the sofa. Jarvis waiting until Bucky had moved cautiously forwards before putting up the first picture. Seven men stood, ranging in an impressive line across the screen, all staring straight at the camera. I recognised Steve and Bucky at once, both right in the middle of the shot. Bucky moved even closer, staring hungrily at the picture. Steve moved up beside him, in a reflection of the screen. Sam and I hung back a little, giving them some privacy to review their memories. Or that was the plan.  
            "I can't even recognise myself," Bucky said quietly. I raised my gaze to the face on the screen, and the depression in his voice, combined with Steve's silence, forced my tongue into action.  
            "I can," I said. Steve looked round as I walked around the sofa to stand on Bucky's other side. He hadn't moved, eyes still fixed on the picture. "You're still  _you_  Bucky, where it matters." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his mouth twitch up into a smile. "Though you do look older now," I added, cocking my head to the side as I eyed the picture. Steve snorted with laughter as Bucky shook his head wryly. But his arm brushed against mine and I grasped his warm fingers for an instant. Looking sideways, I watched as his eyes travelled left, pausing on Steve's picture, then onto the man next to him, with ginger hair and a bushy moustache. He frowned and I half expected the screen to start smoking with the intensity of his gaze.  
            "Him..." he paused, struggling with his thoughts. "Something beginning with D? Lots of Ds?" Steve nodded.  
            "Dum Dum Dugan." Bucky was silent for a minute.  
            "He said... something about bugs." Steve sobered at once. "No, you did," Bucky mused, "both of you. Bugs on a windshield." He finally looked round at Steve's stricken face.   "What happened?"  
            "Buck... I..." Steve swallowed. "I'm so sorry." I couldn't see Bucky's face, but I did see when his left arm twitched suddenly and he gasped. I could guess what had happened. What had Puppet told me? He's blocking the memories. It seemed that Puppet had remembered for him.  
            "The train."  
            "Bucky..." But he held up a hand, cutting Steve off.  
            "It wasn't your fault," he said, his voice shaking a little and Steve swallowed, dropping his eyes, unable to hold the gaze of his best friend.  
            "I'm so–"  
            "Don't," Bucky cut him off. Steve's eyes closed, as if waiting for a punishing blow. "It  _was not your fault_." I leant back a little, until I couldn't see Steve's face anymore. I didn't want to see that sort of pain. And if he ever opened his eyes again, there was only one face he should see. "Steve." I knew that he looked up then, because at the plea in Bucky's voice, how could he refuse? "You tried." I closed my eyes then, wishing I could sink away and leave the two of them alone. But I remained fully solid, and listened with a smile on my face to a shuffling sound, followed by the rustle of fabric of an embrace. Throats were cleared as they broke apart and I opened my eyes again.  
            We all somehow migrated down onto the sofa, with me perched on one of the arm rests by Bucky. All three of the men had offered to swap with me. Sam was the last to try, and I gave him such a good glare that he stopped speaking mid-sentence, turning his attention back to the screen instantly. For a while I remained silent as they flicked through the pictures, Steve explaining what was going on. Bucky's contributions were few, but shone like rays on sun on both Steve's face and mine, even though I noticed his left hand twitching a couple of times. They made him happier too; the return of his memories was a huge step forwards. Every time he remembered a time, or a place, or a phrase one of them had said, a light of triumph shone from his face. But of course, it couldn't last. And this time, it was my fault.

 

"What do you mean you don't know where that is?" Steve demanded. I raised an eyebrow at his tone, and my voice was stiff as I replied.  
            "I mean I don't know where it is," I said.  
            "But everyone knows that picture!" He objected. "It's the one in all the history books, the one everyone tries to get me to sign."  
            "You give out autographs?" Bucky twisted around with a grin on his face and I too smirked a little. Steve waved it away, still eyeing me suspiciously. I shrugged, still looking at the fairly un-inspiring picture of Steve in his full outfit, standing in front of a large building. Bucky and a couple of the other Commandos were just visible on the edge of the frame.  
            "I don't know, Steve," I said, "I grew up in England, I didn't do American History." Steve scowled.  
            "This isn't just American History," he said mulishly. I rolled my eyes.  
            "Fine, I didn't do World War Two in History."  
            "What the hell did you do then?" I shrugged again.  
            "Medicine," I replied honestly, "and The American West." Three pairs of eyes stared at me. I laughed. "I think they did WWII at A-level." I said, in the interest of fairness. They just continued to stare at me. I scowled. "I know the major stuff, just not all the little bits," I snapped, gesturing at the screen. "Like knowing the background for every single picture!"  
            "I do!" Steve said, and I made a noise of exasperation.  
            "You were  _there_ ," I pointed out angrily. "You lived it!"  
            " _If I may, Miss Romanoff is approaching_ ," Jarvis said, before I could continue. With a groan of relief I leapt up and stretched.  
            "Saved." I turned back to find them all still staring at me. "Stop it, or I'll punch one of you in the face," I said. It was an empty threat, but it worked. Sam and Steve looked away, but Bucky's grin widened. I just shook my head at him.  
            "How far out is Nat?" Steve asked, standing up and moving over to the window, squinting upwards.  
            " _I estimate she will be coming into view within the next half a minute Captain._ " Steve nodded absently, still gazing at the sky, and I looked back at Bucky. He looked a little pale, and his jaw was clenched, but his face was determined. I gave him a slightly questioning look, and he swallowed, then nodded, both his hands clenching and unclenching in his lap. I tried not to stare at the left one. Maybe, just maybe, if he could get through this without any problems, without Puppet making an appearance, things could get easier for him. Maybe he would be able to believe in himself. So I waited, watching his left hand shake, listened to the sound of an approaching aircraft, and I hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed, any kudos and comments are received with warm fuzzy feelings and a squeak of excitement.
> 
> Sorry this chapter took a little longer than I'd hoped, and it hasn't been second-drafted, so feel free to point out any mistakes etc. Hopefully next chapter shouldn't been too long, but I make no promises, other than the appearance of Black Widow, and maybe possibly Iron Man.


	10. X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6/9  
> Many thanks to the two guests who have left kudos since the last chapter.
> 
> Previously: Beth finally gets to see Bucky's metal arm. Breakfast is eaten, phone-calls are overheard, and photographs are looked at.

We all waited in silence as the noise grew louder, then cut out suddenly. Steve turned away from the window at last, walking halfway across the room to face the lift. Bucky stood, backing away until he reach my side, but not quite enough to be able to hide behind me. I knew that my nerves were nothing compared to his, but that didn't stop my stomach churning. His breathing was light and fast beside me, and I reached out my fingers until they brushed the coolness of his left hand. He jumped a little at the contact but didn't pull away as I slipped my palm next to his and squeezed lightly. He returned the grip a little too enthusiastically and I winced, relaxing my grip at once. Luckily he got the message and lessened the pressure. But I could still feel the metal trembling in my grip. I just hoped that it was only from nerves, rather than Puppet's influence. Glancing sideways, I was reassured to see Bucky chewing his lip; I was pretty sure that wasn't Puppet's habit. The lift doors opened.  
            Natasha Romanoff had fiery red hair that fell almost to her shoulders in gentle waves. The deep colour, combined with the black, skin-tight suit she was wearing, made her skin look very pale, but there was no denying that she was pretty. She strode out of the lift without a hint of hesitation, and her eyes snapped to Bucky at once. Her hand paused by her hip. No-one said a word. Two feet away from Steve, she finally looked away from Bucky, and met his eyes.  
            "How long?" she said and now it was Steve that looked away. "Come on Rogers, how long were you going to hide this?"  
            "For as long as I had to," Steve snapped. Natasha waited until he looked back at her before speaking again.  
            "You're alright?" Steve scowled, but nodded, then twitched slightly, as if he'd been going to look round at Bucky, but thought better of it. Natasha too, glanced his way, and Bucky stiffened a little beside me, but then she turned her gaze to Sam instead.1  
            "Wilson."  
            "Romanoff."  
            "You agreed with all this." Sam shrugged and Natasha returned her fiery gaze to Steve.  
            "You didn't call once, in four weeks," she said. "Every time, it was one of us that called you. Did you even notice that?"  
            "Of course I did, but..."  
            "But you didn't care enough. You know, I thought we were meant to be doing this together. They need both of us. Especially Wanda. She just lost her brother, and then you disappear as well?"  
            "I KNOW!" Steve cried. "I know." Natasha continued to glare at him for another couple of seconds, then turned and took two steps towards us, her gaze on Bucky. He didn't retreat.  
            "How are you feeling?" she said.  
            Like the cause of every problem," Bucky muttered, so honestly that I snorted with laughter. She ignored me.  
            "No violent tendencies?"  
            "Natasha!" Steve barked. They both ignored him.  
            "Not right now," Bucky said coolly.  
            "Well, wait 'till you meet Tony, he'll soon fix that. If Wilson doesn't do it first." Bucky paused, clearly unsure of himself, then smiled hesitantly. She returned it with a surprising gentleness, then turned her eyes to me. My stomach, which had relaxed so recently after Bucky's success, tightened again. But her smile remained in place.  
            "Hi. It's nice to meet you. I'm Natasha." Terrified, but not wanting to show it, I smiled back.  
            "Beth. Nice to meet you too." Her smile widened a little, and my own became a bit more genuine, but before either of us could say or do anything more, something shot up past the window, so fast, and so close, that the glass vibrated. I whipped around, but was too slow to see whatever it had been. Bucky had whipped round too, I could see him out of the corner of my eye, tense and waiting. Behind us, Natasha laughed dryly.  
            "He likes to make an entrance, doesn't he?"  
            "Drama queen," Steve muttered and she laughed again. I relaxed a little. They clearly knew what was going on, and didn't seem to think there was a threat. I glanced left, and my stomach dropped. They might be wrong. Bucky was shaking.  
            "Bucky?" I whispered. He didn't react, but his eyes began to dart around. For a second, I stared at him, unable to see anyone other than the man I'd first seen in the middle of a crowded street. "Bucky?" My voice was louder this time, and Steve noticed what I had. At his sudden stillness and silence, the others went quiet too. I didn't take my eyes off Bucky as I moved slowly round him, carefully to keep a distance between us until I was directly in front of him.  
            "It's okay, Bucky," I said gently, "it's okay. You're safe. Everything is fine. You're okay. Look at me, Bucky." And though he was shaking, he did, his blue eyes locking onto mine. Then he went still, the trembling stopped, and he seemed to stand a little taller. I took in a sharp breath through my nose as we looked at each other.  
            "Bucky," I said, but I wasn't sure why; I knew full well that it wasn't him. He just smirked.  
            "You made such a fuss about me having a name, now you're not even going to use it?"  
            "I told you I don't like it," I reminded him, carefully keeping my voice level. He just grinned even more broadly.  
            "I told you that I do." I had opened my mouth to give a retort when Steve took a step forwards. Sam, aware that something was wrong, lunged after him, and grabbed his arm, but the sudden movements were too much. Puppet whirled round, and again I didn't even see him draw the gun. But I could tell that it was pointed directly at Steve's heart. He froze at once, staring at Bucky in shock.  
            "Bucky? It's okay, it's me. It's Steve." I pretended not to notice Natasha's hand drift to her hip. "Bucky?" Steve's voice was heart-breaking.  
            "Don't call me that," Puppet snapped and Steve blanched.  
            "What do you mean? Bucky, what's going on?"  
            "Steve, shut up," I said. He opened his mouth angrily, but I saw Sam's hand tighten on his arm and he remained silent. Sam's eyes were darting between me and Bucky, his face unreadable. I moved slowly as I edged round and placed myself between Puppet and Steve.  
            "Bucky was wrong. Wasn't he? You don't want to finish it," I said. Puppet frowned, looking slightly past me to the two men. I felt a stab of pride that he had to look round me, rather than just being able to see over my head.  
            "I'm not theirs anymore," Puppet said, having caught up with my train of thought.  
            "Then prove it," I challenged him. "Put the gun down. Please."  
            "Ask me to."  
            "I just did."  
            "Ask _me_." It was a snarl.  
            "You're the one I'm looking at." I said coolly.  
            "Say my name," he hissed.  
            "No." We glared at each other, neither of us willing to back down. But I thought I saw his hand begin to lower slightly. Then, the lift door opened. Five heads turned.

 

"Did you miss me?" Tony Stark was older than he looked in the magazines, but his smile was still straight from a photo shoot. It slid off his face as he took in the scene in front of him; Sam holding Steve back, me standing between them and Bucky, who still had his gun raised, Natasha slightly off to one side. He stopped only a couple of steps from the lift, staring at us all. "Huh. This looks like fun." I looked away from him, back to Puppet, who was still looking at Tony with slightly narrowed eyes. It only took a second for his gaze to swing round to meet mine, and another one for him to drop it to the floor, and the gun was lowered to his side. I let out a breath.  
            "Cap?" Tony said cautiously. "You wanna explain why there's a guy with a gun and a _metal arm_ in my living room?"  
            "Er...." But even as Steve hesitated, Puppet lifted  his eyes to Tony, and they were burning.  
            "You look like him," he said. Tony didn't rise to the bait, but simply returned Puppet's gaze silently. "Your father." Puppet continued, and the malice was a little more obvious in his tone this time. Tony's face twitched a little. "They said that you might be in the car. But you weren't. There was only two. Howard. Maria."  
            "No," I breathed, but no-one heard me. No-one was listening. The news of the Stark's death had rocked the world, and been all over television, even in Britain. And now... it couldn't have been him. Could it?  
            "Your father died quite quickly really. He bled out, laceration to the carotid artery. He had time to reach out for your mother though. Couldn't say anything, but he held her hand." Tony was shaking. None of us moved, transfixed with horror at Puppet's tale, and the casual way he told it. "Your mother..." Puppet's eyes bored into Tony's face as he paused, revelling in the effect he was having. "She took longer. Might even have survived, if someone had gotten there sooner. But they didn't. I know, I stood and watched. I watched as she struggled, as she saw her husband die. And then the fire started. I heard her screaming as she burned."  
            "Puppet!" I shouted. He jerked and his eyes snapped to mine. But there wasn't a trace of guilt in them. In fact, he was grinning with triumph that I'd finally used his name. I couldn't look away, even as I felt my eyes stinging. I just stared at him, horrified. How could he have done that? And talk of it now in such a calm, unconcerned way?  
            Tony took the opportunity while everyone was staring at Puppet to make his move. And it was a pretty good move. Maybe if Puppet hadn't been staring at me, he could have formed a better response. As it was, I thought he did pretty well with the time he had. His eyes left mine at the same time that something red and gold streaked past me. I didn't see what Puppet did. By the time my eyes had snapped round to the left, towards the blurred streak, then back forwards again, Iron Man was staggering backwards, and Puppet had his metal fist raised. It only took a second for Tony to recover, and then he sprang forwards again. They collided in a screech of metal and a shower of sparks.  
            Steve shook off Sam's restraining hand and leapt forwards to join the fray. I, on the other hand, backed away, trying not to trip over my own feet in my haste. That was not a fight I wanted to be in the middle of. But I couldn't help letting out a gasp as one of Tony's punches caught Puppet's cheek and snapped his head round with a crack.  
            "Enough!" Steve's shout was like an explosion, his voice shoving the pair away from each other at the same time as his hands. And by a miracle, they listened. Seven feet apart, they glared at each other. Steve was looking at Puppet with something close to apprehension, but before he could say anything, Tony spoke.  
            "Get him out of here. Right now." No-one else moved. I stepped forwards.  
            "Puppet. Come on," I said quietly, pulling on his arm. He turned abruptly and I lead him away, down the corridor to the bedrooms. Neither of us spoke until the door closed behind us. I left him in the middle of the room, walking away to the window and looking out.  
            "Is it true?" I asked.  
            "Which bit?" I rounded on him.  
            "All of it!" He looked away and I closed my eyes. "Pack your things."  
            "But..." I opened my eyes and glared at him.  
            "No. No but. No anything. You killed his parents. He has every right to want you gone. I'm surprised he's not still trying to rip your head off. And I don't blame him."  
            "You mean that." His face gave nothing away as we stared at each other.  
            "Yeah," I said, "I do."  
            "I didn't know anything different," he said quietly, but I shook my head.  
            "You should know better now. I don't blame you for killing them. I don't know if he would. It's what you did just then." He finally looked away, gazing out the window behind me.  
            "I shouldn't have told him."  
            "You shouldn't have told him _like that_." I corrected. "Did you enjoy it?"  
            "Telling him?"  
            "Doing it." His gaze fell to the carpet but he shook his head.  
            "I didn't enjoy anything then. I didn't know how."  
            "Could've fooled me." We both whipped round. Tony and Steve stood in the doorway. Tony still had his armour on, and I heard a metal fist clench.  
            "Tony," Steve said, but Tony cut across him.  
            "No. I don't care who he used to be Cap. I want him out. Now."  
            "We're going," I assured him, and three heads flicked round to me.  
            "We?" I resisted rolling my eyes.  
            "Yeah, we," I told Puppet, doing my best to ignore his expression, which seemed to be fixed somewhere between hope and incredulity.  
            "You knew about this all along didn't you? About him." I turned to look Steve straight in the eye, and decided on the easiest answer.  
            "Yes," I said simply.  
            "And you didn't tell us?"  
            "Not mine to tell." I shut him down hard, but he simply scowled and glared at Puppet with almost as much distrust as Tony.  
            "This might be a really good time for us to have Bucky back," I muttered, glancing sideways.  
            "That's not really an option," Puppet said, without taking his eyes off the pair in the doorway.  
            " ** _What?_** " Steve and I spoke together and Puppet's eyes flickered. I took a step closer to him.  
            "Puppet. Where's Bucky?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any comments or kudos are very, very much appreciated.... (hint hint :P )  
> Okay, so I've lost track of how long it's been since I last updated this, but I think it's now in the region of three weeks. For that, any returning readers have my utmost, yet rather insincere apologies.  
> So this chapter is a little shorter than the rest, for which I'm sorry, but it's been something between a joy and a pain to write, and I'm not sorry to see the back of it. Hopefully XI will come a little easier, and with a fair amount more action too. Possibly. Having said that, there are about three possibilities for which direction I'm taking this, and though I think I know which one it's going to be, it might still change, so no promises.


	11. XI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 29/9  
> Many thanks to Azaneti and the guest who left kudos since the last chapter, and Shiny Blue for their comment.
> 
> Previously: Natasha and Tony arrive, one with far more subtly than the other. Puppet returns, with news for Tony, who is not best pleased.

            "Puppet. Where's Bucky?"  
            "Unavailable," he said without meeting my eyes.  
            "What have you done to him?" Steve snarled, and I heard him take a step forwards, though I didn't look round at him. Puppet glared at him.  
            "Puppet," I repeated carefully, "what happened?" Slowly, his focus left Steve and slipped back to me.  
            "He's too small," Puppet said. I clenched my teeth and tried not to snap at him, but he could tell. "When..." His eyes flicked away, towards the door, and I remembered how Bucky had trembled after Iron Man had blasted past the window. "He, I don't know, it set something off. He freaked out. And now he's hiding. He's too small," he repeated, and my eyes burned.  
            "Can't you talk to him?" Puppet gave me a look that clearly said he thought I was being an idiot.  
            "One. He doesn't listen to me."  
            "Yes he does. He can't stop listening to you," I objected, but he ignored me.  
            "Two. Why would I?" I just scowled at him for that one. "Three. No. He's... hiding. Armoured. It's like there's a wall between us."  
            "Is it like before? When there was just you?" I asked sharply, but he shook his head.  
            "No. He's still in here. Before, there was nothing." He looked up at Steve. "I didn't even know he existed. Until you said his name." I looked sideways, and could almost see the line connecting their eyes as they stared at each other. "On the highway, that was when he first came back. When you looked for him."  
            "He came back," Steve said, and it was as if he didn't know he'd spoken. Puppet nodded.  
            "It was like.... getting shot, from inside. One moment there was nothing, then he was there, and there wasn't enough room for both of us, and I had to push him away." Puppet's eyes flickered. "I shot you." Steve choked on a mirthless laugh, and shook his head.  
            "No. Natasha shot at _you_. You disappeared."  
            "Oh." There was a slight pause. "I did shoot you though. On the helicarrier." Tony scoffed and turned on his heel, walking out of sight. Steve glanced between us, his eyes lingering on Puppet, then followed him. I did my best not to listen to their raised voices, though we both held our silence until they'd faded away.  
            "What now?" Puppet asked me. I turned away and began to shove things randomly into my backpack. I hadn't let my possessions wander far; I'd never expected to stay long. But I didn't answer his question.  
            "Puppet, why did you go off at Tony?" I asked, without turning back to look at him. "Why did you let them know about you? They wouldn't have realised, if you hadn't pulled a gun on Steve." I finally turned back to find him watching me with those unreadable eyes.  
            "And how long would I have had to hide?" he challenged me. "Just pretend to be him every time he freaks out?" He shook his head. "They erased Bucky, and I came instead. I've been here for nearly 70 years, doesn't that count for anything?"  
            "I think it counts for a hell of a lot," I said calmly. "But you haven't answered my question." He looked away.  
            "I wasn't... I didn't know he was going to freak out like that," he said eventually.  
            "You weren't expecting it."  
            "And then Stark came in... He does look like his father. And it was like being back there, and doing it all over again." His eyes flicked back to mine. "It all came back." I frowned.  
            "You didn't remember doing it?" Puppet shook his head, frustrated.  
            "There were so many. I remember them all, I just... don't think on them much."  
            "Do you regret it?" I asked bluntly and his eyes snapped back to mine. For a moment I didn't think he was going to answer me.  
            "I don't know," he said at last. "What does regret feel like?" I scoffed.  
            "Do you wish you hadn't done it?"  
            "No," he replied at once. "If I hadn't done it, I would be dead." We stared at each other for a second. "It was never a choice Beth," he said, his voice low. "It wasn't like I..." He took a breath. "It was all I'd ever known, all they'd ever taught me."  
            "Murder." I didn't mean to say the word, it just slipped out, let loose into the world, and I would never be able to take it back. Puppet's eyes hardened at once.  
            "Yes. Murder. I killed more people than I care to count. I killed from a mile away, and from within inches. With a knife, a gun, a car, an explosion. I made it look like an accident, suicide, hate crime, or exactly what it was. I killed the old and the young. And I never, _ever_ questioned it." I turned away, snatching up my hairbrush and throwing it roughly towards the backpack. By some fluke, it went straight in.  
            "Did you really shoot Steve?" I asked, without looking round.  
            "Yes," he confirmed. "More than once."  
            "What happened?"  
            "He still completed his mission. And came back."  
            "To save you."  
            "To save _Bucky,_ " he corrected.  
            "And then?" A slight pause.  
            "We saved him." _We._ I smiled while my face was hidden, only turning back when I was sure the grin had gone. With my expression blank again, I crossed the room for the final time and slung my backpack over one shoulder.  
            "What now?" Puppet asked again, and this time, I answered him.  
            "We leave," I said, and his eyes immediately darted to the doorway. "We help Bucky, and we wait for them to catch up."  
            "You think they'll follow?" His voice was doubtful, and I shook my head.  
            "Do you think Steve will just let you walk away? Let Bucky walk away?" He gave a half-shrug of acceptance and I nodded. "Let's get your stuff."  
            "Got it all," he said, then grinned at my sceptical face. "I think that bit came from Bucky, when he was in the army. He learned not to hold onto things." I offered him a half-smile, then lead the way back towards the others, and the lift out.

 

Four sets of eyes fixed on us as we emerged. Tony is the first to look away, turning resolutely back to the tablet in his hands within seconds. I didn't even bother to glare at the back of his head. But before I could turn away, he spoke up.  
            "What the hell is this?" Sam, Steve, Puppet and I all looked at him in askance, though he didn't turn round. I noticed that Natasha's eyes stayed on Puppet. Meanwhile, Tony had finally turned and was holding up his tablet to show the room. I narrowed my eyes to see what was on the small screen.  
            "It looks like a playlist," I said, and knew at once what it must be. Tony scowled.  
            "Yes, I know that," he snapped, before turning the screen back again, and staring down at it in disgust. "But honestly..."  
            "Seriously?" I let out a laugh. "Out of everything, you're going to object to my _music taste_? Well that makes it easier. Next time I'll just put in more Black Sabbath and everything will be fine!" I snapped at him, then turned away. He was being childish, finding anything he could to object to, probably hoping for another argument, a vent for his anger. Puppet was grinning.  
            "What did you say?" Tony said, his voice low.  
            "What?"  
            " _Sir, there's..."  
_             "Not now, J," Tony interrupted him, standing up. I eyed him in confusion as he stalked round the sofa. "How do you know what music I listen to?" I drew back, frowning at him.   
            "It was just a guess."  
            " _Bullshit_." Every pair of eyes was upon us. "How long have you had the place bugged?"  
            "Excuse me?" I snarled, actually taking a step towards him.  
            " _Sir, unauthorised movement on floor 32._ " Jarvis cut in.  
            "Is that your buddies?" He asked, his voice almost a whisper.  
            "How dare you?" I growled.  
            " _Sir!_ "  
            "Lock it down, Jarvis!"  
            " _My locking systems have been overridden_."  
            "Damn it!" He swore. "Bring up the video." The screen lit up at once, showing a surprisingly clear picture of six or so men moving swiftly down a corridor. They were all wearing the same blue overalls, but I doubted that the guns in their hands were standard issue. The last one glanced up at the camera as he passed, two eyes all that was visible through slits in a black mask, streaked with white paint.  
            "Rumlow." Two voices spoke together, Steve and Puppet both spitting the word out like it would poison their mouths.  
            "Hydra." Steve spat, snatching up his shield. In my peripheral vision, I saw Puppet take a step back, even as his hand found a gun. Natasha and Sam were also ready, armed and waiting, Natasha glancing round only once to take in possible entry and exit points. Tony was still glaring at me and I stared right back.  
            "Well what do you know?" he said softly. "Your backup is here."  
            "You'd better watch what you're insinuating." I snarled at him, my hands flexing uselessly.  
            "Really?" he shot back.  
            " _They've entered the south stairwell._ " Jarvis updated us. " _And there appears to be a second team in the east stairwell, floor 39 and climbing._ " Tony cursed, even as he turned away from me, and red and gold bits of armour began to fly towards him, clicking smoothly into place as I continued to glare at his back.  
            "How did they get in?"  
            " _There was scheduled work, and their credentials passed inspection_." Tony cursed again.  
            "They've come." I looked sideways, and was unable to tell whether it was Puppet or Bucky who'd spoken. Their face was white, and their hand trembled.  
            "It's going to be okay." I closed my mouth, and looked at Steve in surprise. "They're not going to touch you." His voice was low but fierce, and the tremors lessened.  
            "Nat, Bird-brain, take east, try to bottleneck them on the stairs," Tony directed, his voice slightly muffled by the armour. Sam shot him a withering look that he didn't see, but followed Natasha regardless. I took a step towards Bucky. His head snapped round and his body tensed. I froze.  
            There was fear in those eyes. Fear and suspicion. I stared at him for a moment, then looked away, and tried to pretend my eyes weren't filling with liquid. That hurt. I'd bled for him, and now one off-hand comment about music and some snark, and he believed I was part of Hydra. That hurt a lot.  
            "Cap, with me," Tony barked, having noticed nothing, but he still glanced back at me before disappearing through a door. Steve paused before following him, his eyes on Puppet. Something passed between them.  
            "I'm not going back to them," Puppet said, his voice fierce. Steve hesitated, then nodded.  
            "Then we could use another gun." Puppet strode forwards at once, but Steve caught his arm as he made to pass. Again, something beyond words flitted between them.  
            "Bucky's here too," Puppet said, so quietly I almost missed it. Again Steve nodded, and released his arm. In perfect silence, Steve followed Tony out, but Puppet swung around the second he was out of sight and stalked across to me. I backed up a pace on instinct before he grabbed my hand and pressed something into it.  
            "Don't point it at someone unless you mean it. If you do, pull the trigger." The gun was surprisingly heavy in my hand, and when I looked up again, he was gone. Gaping at the space where he had been, I wondered what he meant by it. Surely, if he thought I was part of hydra, he wouldn't have given me a weapon? But what about the fear I'd seen in his eyes earlier?  
            The first gunshots were loud, louder than I'd expected, and I flinched slightly, my head whipping round to gaze after Natasha and Sam, towards the sound. But in the next second, my head turned the other way as more gunshots split the silence. And still I stood, useless and immobile. The next volley decided for me. I couldn't just stand here. I had to try and help. My head flickered between the two directions where the others had vanished. Tony, Steve and Puppet would be fine. If Iron Man and Captain America couldn't handle it, with Puppet as back-up, I wouldn't make any difference at all. So I turned and strode after Sam and Natasha.  
            " _I've been instructed to inform Mr Stark of your movements._ " Jarvis said as I crossed the room.  
            "Then _inform_ him." I spat, breaking into a run.

 

The sounds amplified tenfold as I opened the door to the stairwell, the bangs and shouts and groans reaching my ears unhampered. Gritting my teeth and telling myself very firmly not to be a coward, I crept down, hugging the wall as I went. My hand was sweating round the cool metal against my palm, and I was careful to keep my finger off the trigger.  
            It didn't take long to find them. The echoing bangs got louder as I descended into the enclosed space and my breathing quickened as I fought not to flinch away from the noise. Sam and Natasha were four floors down, pinned on a landing by a group of five men, also wearing the blue overalls. I could see two more bodies further down the stairs, but they seemed to have reach a stalemate, neither side able to move up or down without risking bullets from the other.  
            But they hadn't noticed me. On the landing directly above Natasha and Sam, I crouched down, and crept ever so slowly forwards. Another volley of shots flashed between them, ricocheting all around, but I didn't flinch this time. _Don't point it at someone unless you mean it_. Taking a slow breath, I raised the gun in both my hands. _If you do, pull the trigger._ My finger crept over the trigger and made contact. Could I really do this? Become a murderer? _It's self-defence_. A small voice whispered to me. But was it? They weren't threatening me. I could retreat back up the stairs, and take no part in this. _For Natasha._ The voice murmured. _For Sam._ Still I hesitated. _For Bucky._ For Bucky. I pulled the trigger.  
            The first shot missed altogether, but it did make them pull back in confusion, scattering their formation.  
            The second hit one of them in the shoulder. A spray of blood painted the wall as the bullet exited his body, the splatter accentuated by a red smear left behind as he fell against the wall with a cry of pain.  
            The third took another in the thigh, but he dove out of sight without so much as a whimper.  
            Then Natasha made her move. I heard the sure footsteps pound below me, and saw a streak of her red hair as she launched herself over the balcony, straight across the gap to land in the middle of the group. She moved so fast I didn't even see what happened. A blur of limbs and two of the men were reeling backwards. Terrified of hitting her, I swung my gun away, my finger leaving the trigger without any reluctance. My ears were still ringing from the unbelievably loud sound of the gunshots.  
            Sam moved at almost the same time, but he leapt down the stairs, taking them two or three at a time. His bullets found their targets with much more accuracy than mine had. I didn't look away, didn't even move until every single one of them was lying sprawled on the floor, unconscious or dead. Only when Sam and Natasha were finished, and looked back up to see who had joined the fight did I stand on shaking legs, the gun hanging loosely by my side. None of us said anything for a minute, just looking at each other. It was Sam that broke the silence.  
            "Beth," he said, his voice croaky. I didn't reply, but stumbled down the three flights of stairs to join them. Looking down on the bodies strewn around, I wondered if I would be sick. People were sometimes sick when they looked at dead bodies, especially ones they'd had a hand in killing. I could see a man, lying on his front with a bullet hole in his shoulder. I'd fired that bullet. Me. But no nausea came. No tears either. I just stared down at the abstract painting in dark blue and brightest red. Lots of red.

 

I could feel Sam watching me, his gaze like a physical pressure, but I was immovable beneath it, like a rock before the wind. Natasha ignored us both, moving among the bodies, checking each one for a pulse. What she would do if she found one, I didn't know. Execute them? Or take them for interrogation? I shivered at the thought. Or maybe I was just trembling anyway. I wasn't quite sure.  
            "Beth," Sam said again, but he didn't get the chance to go any further. The single, unexpected, gunshot seemed so much louder than all the others had been. Another spray of red splattered the already over-decorated walls and Natasha fell, in total silence, crumpling on top of the pile of bodies. Sam turned at once, raising his gun, but I just stood there. I didn't need to turn. I was already looking straight at the gunman, who had now turned his sights to me. I opened my mouth, to say something, to scream, to cry out, I wasn't sure which. Before I could do anything, there was a bright flash, a roar of sound, a burst of pain and an endless fall into darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... the past three weeks have been hectic, what with finishing work and going back to university. Excuses excuses I know, but hey, at least it's still September! ;)
> 
> Thanks for taking the time to read, any and all kudos/comments/reviews/feedback/interest is much appreciated.


	12. XII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4/10  
> Thanks to Blue_eyed_cat, Shiny Blue, and 1 guest for leaving kudos, and Shiny Blue for their indescribably helpful comments.
> 
> Previously: Beth and Puppet prepare to leave, Tony suspects Beth is a part of Hydra just in time for them to turn up. Beth backs up Natasha and Sam as they successfully deal with part of the incursion, but then things go downhill again.
> 
> See end of chapter for warnings.

Everything was black. Why was it so dark? I felt like I was swimming, floating through a haze of dark red. Why couldn't I see anything? My eyes were closed. That one fact came to me, and started the tidal wave of everything else. For a second, I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't move, as the rush of memory and understanding overwhelmed me. Bucky. Steve. Tony's anger. Hydra. Sam. Natasha's blood. Puppet. My eyes opened.  
            The room was surprisingly large, with cold grey walls and three light bulbs hanging from various points in the ceiling. They didn't even make a nice triangle, it was all skewed, none of the sides equal length. Not even a right angle. _There's a name for that_ , I thought to myself randomly. My eyes roved around, taking in everything they could touch. I seemed to be alone, and moved to sit up. It didn't go well. Pain shot through my shoulder, arm, back and leg. Gasping, I relaxed back down at once, hiding from the sudden agony. It took several minutes before I could muster the courage to try again. This time, I was more careful. Slowly, I rolled to the right, pushing up with my elbow while keeping my left arm immobile at my side. From there, I lurched unsteadily to my feet, and assessed the damage.  
            The worst was the bullet hole in my left shoulder. Blood had clotted around it, sticking to my t-shirt as it dried. Every movement tugged on the wound, sending a fresh spasm of pain through my body. Cautiously, I shifted my arm, trying to determine the range of movement it had before the pain became unbearable. The answer was not much. I could move my elbow and wrist well enough, but almost any shifting of the shoulder joint was agony. I folded my arm back across my stomach and raised my right hand, grasping the neck of my t-shirt. I didn't pause to think, but pulled. My breath came out in a hiss between my teeth as the bloody fabric ripped away from the wound, but I could now move my other arm without it pulling on the raw patch so much. There was nothing more I could do with it, so I moved on with my assessment.  
            There were stripes of pain all over my body. One crossed my right elbow and extended onto my back, and another ran across my right thigh. I could feel the bruise through my trousers with the gentlest pressure from my fingers. Slowly, I ran them across the sore patch, thinking, trying to remember. Natasha. Natasha had been shot, and I'd seen the gun. Shaking my head, wincing at the new pain that flared at the motion, I tried to see past it, to work out the origin of the shot, but my mind had focused so closely on the barrel, all was grey and fuzzy behind it. I'd been standing on the stairs, looking down at the bodies of the Hydra agents. It must have been one of them that fired the gun, only pretending to be dead. I spared a brief moment to worry about Sam, but then pushed it away. I didn't have time. Okay, so I'd been shot by one of them, and then what? The firm line of pain under my fingers gave me a fairly big clue. I'd fallen down the stairs. Beyond that - nothing.  
            With a sigh, I stopped prodding my bruise, and looked around again. Nothing had changed, unsurprisingly. The bare walls and floor, the stupidly positioned lights. My eyes were drawn to the one feature I'd been studiously ignoring, because it was my only source of both hope and fear; the door. As quietly as I could, I limped over to it, examining with my eyes before my fingers. The metal was cold under my touch, and didn't give as I tested each of the four corners. Gritting my teeth, I took a step back, considering the slab of unyielding metal.  
            With a huff, I turned away, walked steadily round the walls, trying to conceal my limp as much as possible. So the only question that remained was; where was I? Or more accurately, at whose mercy? How suspicious was Stark, really? Did he believe, and believe enough to convince others, that I was part of Hydra? I remembered the doubt in Puppet's eyes and my stomach twisted with a mixture of hurt and anger.  
            Then there was the other option, that I was far away from them, in the company of people far less human. I looked up, trying to dispel the terrifying thought, when I saw it. In the corner only feet away from me, was a small black circle. My brain reacted instinctively, as it always did at the sight of something small and black in a corner. _Spider_ , it told me, but the lurch of fear was nowhere near as strong as it would have been a decade ago, and I shrugged it off as irrational, forcing my tensed muscles to relax, even as I should my head at the fact that a small eight-legged creature could cause me fear even in this situation.     Cautiously, I took a step forwards, my eyes straining to identify the small inconsistency. It wasn't a spider. It was a camera. I stilled, frowning up at the tiny lens. It stared straight back. The ceiling wasn't very high, I could probably grab it if I jumped. But even as I considered whether it was worth the pain in my shoulder and leg, the door opened.

 

I whirled round at once, my muscles tensing as I focused on the man who shuffled inside then slammed the door again behind him. The light bulbs trembled, swinging from the ceiling as he carried a hard wooden chair into the room, dropped it with a clatter and then sat on it the wrong way, arms leaning on the back as his eyes met mine.  
            My first feeling was utter relief. I didn't recognise him. It wasn't Tony, or one of the others. Feeling relieved at being a prisoner of Hydra was probably not a good reaction, but I couldn't help it. At least I didn't have to look into the faces of Steve or Sam, and try and convince them that I hadn't been playing them from the start. Then I snapped myself back to the present, and really looked at him.  
            He gave me time, letting my eyes scan every inch of his ruined face. His skin was warped and twisted, like wax that had been held too close to a flame. The effect continued down his neck, and along his arms.  
            "Not pretty, huh?" he said, after a couple of seconds. I didn't respond. "Yeah," he continued, his voice light, though his eyes were hard, "I owe this to your boys."  
            " _My_ boys?" I snorted, forgetting my silence. He shrugged.  
            "Rogers. Wilson." His eyes flashed. " _Barnes_ , in a way." I said nothing. "It was _fascinating_ , seeing what we could do with him. He's unbreakable, really. The ultimate assassin. Fast, strong. No morals at all. Until Rogers came along and fucked it all up. We had to wipe him again after that. Make him forget. Shame, takes a while for him to recover. But it's worth it just to hear him _scream_." My teeth clenched, but I forced a smile.  
            "You're never going to touch him again." I said, and heard the truth in my words reverberating throughout the room. And now he smiled, glancing down, breaking the eye contact for the first time.  
            "The thing is," he said, and the cruel gaze snapped back to mine, "a dog will always come back to its kennel in the end." I shook my head.  
            "He's never coming back to you."  
            "How many times did he have to tell you that before you believe him?"  
            "Only once." He laughed then, shaking his head.  
            "Fool." He grinned at me. "He was always going to come back to us." He stood suddenly, pushing the chair aside. I flinched as it hit the ground with a bang, but held my ground as he stalked towards me, though my right hand was trembling. "He's here right now," he breathed, as he came to a stop only a foot away. I leaned forwards, closing the gap between us.  
            "Liar," I whispered. My back slammed against the wall behind me before I even realised he'd moved. His right hand closed over my left shoulder and I closed my eyes as I gasped in pain.  
            "You think a couple of months was going to bring Barnes back?" He snarled, his face inches from mine. "We took half a decade breaking him, over and over again. He's nothing more than a tool to reshape the world. He'll never be human again." I twisted in his grasp, trying to stamp on his foot and punch him at the same time. He blocked both without even moving his eyes from mine as his hand clenched tighter on my shoulder. "I bet you can scream louder than him" he said, and his hand twisted. But I kept my mouth shut, even as my muscles tensed. "Scream for me," he whispered as he dug his thumb into the bullet wound in my shoulder, and I screamed.

 

He enjoyed it. I didn't need to see the grin twisting his face, or hear his vicious laughter to know that. The light that came into his eyes every time I screamed was enough.  
            I didn't take it quietly. But although I was taller than him, he was stronger, faster and infinitely more experienced. Every blow or kick I sent towards him was turned away with apparent ease. With one exception. I felt an insane amount of pride when my foot connected with his stomach, and actually forced him to take a step backwards. But I paid for it, and paid dearly.

He didn't stay forever. Probably didn't even stay very long. But it felt like he did. It felt like it was hours later that the door closed behind him. I closed my eyes, walking my legs out from the wall as I slid down to sit at the bottom of it.  
            What a fool I'd been, to think I'd been in pain before. My whole body throbbed together and I grit my teeth to keep from crying out. I could actually feel the new bruises forming, the slow spread of blood under my skin. The worst two were on my face and chest; the ones where he'd punched without holding back and I hadn't been able to do anything to deflect it. Idly, I wondered if my cheekbone was broken. I flexed my jaw, stretched my face, and decided it probably wasn't. A deep breath with minimal change in pain told me that my ribs were okay too. I was obscenely lucky. I laughed at that thought, laughed until it hurt, laughed until I was gasping. I was lucky.  
            Opening my eyes, I squinted against the brightness, and my luck grew even more. He'd left the chair. It took every ounce of strength I had, every insult and goading thought my mind could throw at me, to make myself stand and move over to it. But then I stopped. What now? I lacked the strength, and use of both arms, necessary to break it apart. So I simply leaned on the back of it, taking my weight through my right arm, and focused on the one thing they would never be able to take away from me.  
            I was _right_. He had been lying. Bucky wasn't here. For all his talk of dogs, and breaking him, neither Bucky, nor Puppet, would ever come back to Hydra. I trusted them, and Steve, to ensure that would remain true. Hydra would never control the Winter Soldier again. And even here, even now, that was enough to make me smile.

 

Waiting is boring. Waiting in pain is worse. Waiting in pain, flinching at every tiny noise was driving me crazy. I'd moved the chair over to the wall, out of the way and returned to sit on the floor, staring at the door, and at that infuriating triangle of light bulbs. Every whisper of sound, whether real or imagined, made me tense. But when they came, there was no mistaking it. The sound was like a thunderstorm, building louder and louder, a hammering of many feet, coming closer and closer. I pushed up, shuffling forwards, away from the wall.  
            The door opened like a plug being pulled, allowing a tide of black in to drown me. There was 12 of them, all dressed in identical black clothing, and armed to the teeth. They separated at the door, six going each way to line the walls. I held my ground as they fell into position and the thirteenth walked through the door. I knew that walk. I would recognize those movements until I died.  
            His face was hidden behind a black mask, painted white over his face, and now I recognized him. He'd been part of the team that Tony, Steve and Puppet had fought. The one that had looked up at the camera, that they'd called Rumlow. He walked straight across the room to lean against the wall I'd just vacated, and I turned on the spot,  more willing to put my back to the door than to him. My eyes darted once around the walls, at the other men with their ridiculously large guns held loose but ready.  
            "I didn't realise you were this scared of me," I said, and my voice didn't shake. Rumlow didn't reply, but his eyes darted past me, to the door. And although I knew I shouldn't, although I suspected a trap, I turned my head.  
            Of course I hadn't heard his approach, not a single footfall to betray his presence. Cat-footed, he'd always been able to sneak up on me.  
            I looked directly into Bucky's blue eyes, and they were emptier than the grave under his headstone. There was no trace of either of the men I'd come to know in his face, and as he returned my stare without a hint of expression, I doubted that they'd ever really existed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: descriptions of physical and psychological torture.
> 
> Apologies to the eagle-eyed among you who know that this chapter went up last Sunday, then got taken down after a few days. Nothing has changed, it's exactly the same, so sorry if you just re-read it and are now giving the screen evil-eyes. There was a possibility of it changing/being extended/having new ending, at one point, but now that xiii is progressing, it's staying as it is. Sorry again ;)


	13. XIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 16/10  
> Thanks to ShinyBlue, follow_the_sun and Blue_eyed_cat for their comments on XII, VI and AooC, and to secrets_within and the two guests who left kudos since the last update. It's very much appreciated.
> 
> Previously: Beth is captured by Hydra, but refused to break. Until Bucky walks calmly through the door.

He looked dead, like a corpse held vertical, his blank eyes looking straight through me.  
            "Bucky?" I whispered, and my voice trembled for the first time. He didn't even seem to hear me. There was no sign of recognition in his face, no light in his eyes. "Bucky please." The first tear slid silently down my face. How could he just stand there, so empty? Had it all been an act? Had Bucky ever existed? Had Puppet?  
            "What are you, soldier?" Rumlow said from behind me. Bucky blinked, and his eyes moved away from me.  
            "Soldier," he echoed calmly. "The new fist of Hydra. A tool, to make the world a better place." And all the pains in my body were nothing compared to the ripping of my heart.  
            "Who do you serve?"  
            "Hydra." It was too much. I turned my face away, my eyes closed as the tears kept pouring down my face. I heard when Rumlow moved, pushing away from the wall and walking slowly around me, his boots thudding dully on the floor. I opened my eyes, blinking away the last tears as I raised my gaze to look straight into his eyes, and although his face was hidden behind the mask, I knew he was smiling. In that one second, staring at the triumph in his gaze, I knew hatred like I've never known it before, and I snapped.

 

He hadn't expected it. Looking at him afterwards, with bloody scratch marks on his face, mask left torn on the floor, and, I hoped, a lot of bruises to come, I could tell that he hadn't expected it. But through it all, Bucky stood by and watched, emotionless and empty. I wanted to run at him, scream and fly at him too, until the emptiness was shattered, and my Bucky came back. But I just glared at Rumlow, giving over to the firm arms holding me back.  
            I hadn't even noticed the man grab me, but it must have been him that pulled me off Rumlow. I doubted that I'd backed off voluntarily. I lost the trail of my thoughts as Rumlow drove his fist into my stomach.  
            I'd been wrong, so, so wrong, to think I was lucky. He'd been pulling his punches before. He didn't this time. I folded over the force of the blow, vomiting up bile all over the floor, gasping for air and finding none. The second blow was a backhand across my face, left to right, whipping my head round so fast I was nearly sick again. And I still couldn't breathe. Rumlow took a step backwards then, watching me gasp and choke and finally suck in one precious lungful of air. It burned my lungs but I'd never tasted anything so sweet. But Bucky just stood and watched, immovable, uncaring.  
            Rumlow waited until I was supporting my own weight before turning away, his focus on Bucky, who stared right back, eyes following calmly as Rumlow paced back and forth. He stopped very suddenly, right in front of Bucky, and turned to meet his gaze.  
            "Take off your shirt." Bucky blinked, staring at Rumlow without moving for two full seconds. But Rumlow didn't retract the order, and Bucky began to move. His weapons went first, Two guns, one from his hip, the other from his back, and a long serrated blade all placed carefully, lovingly, on the floor. The holster when next, slipping from his shoulders with a practised shrug, his metal arm whirring gently. Then he pulled his jacket off over his head in one smooth movement. I stared at the line where metal met flesh in a ridge of scars, unable to look away as Bucky tossed his clothing aside and stood, unfazed before us. Rumlow was just as silent as I was, letting him stand until I saw goose bumps start to rise on his other arm.  
            "Mission status," Rumlow barked suddenly, and Bucky's eyes snapped to the distance, looking at nothing as he answered.  
            "Mission; eliminate Captain America. Status; completed."

 

If I'd had a hand free, I would have clapped it to my mouth. No. It couldn't be. But I searched those blue eyes and found nothing at all. I looked away. It was my fault. I'd trusted Bucky, believed every word that came out of his mouth. I'd been the one to call Sam, tell him where Bucky was, so he could be reunited with Steve. And all along, it had been a mission, a ploy to get close to him, and take him out. A mission that was now completed. Captain America, Steve Rogers, was dead. Probably shot in the back. Had Bucky taken out Tony at the same time, eradicating the remaining Stark, the one he'd missed years ago? I should never have trusted him, should never have let him into my home, into my head. In one wild second of déjà vu, I remembered the first time I'd seen him, those blue eyes darting around in a panic. I could have kept walking. I should have.  
            Rumlow's boots were loud in the silent room, but I didn't look up. I didn't want to see either of them again.  
            "Turn around," he ordered, and I heard Bucky comply. I wished I could turn my ears away as thoroughly as my eyes. But I couldn't. So I heard the _whup-ffttt-crack_ in the air, and I looked up at the unexpected sound, my eyes finding the line of red across Bucky's back as Rumlow drew the whip back. It descended again, the _crack_ as it met Bucky's skin the only sound on the air. He didn't make a sound, didn't even move. Just stood there and accepted the blows.  
            "What is your name?" Rumlow asked quietly, the sound almost lost in the third _crack_ of the whip.  
            "An asset needs no name," Bucky replied, and his voice was perfectly level.  
            "What is your purpose?" _Crack_!  
            "To serve Hydra." I looked away, thinking of Steve, of Tony, of his parents, of Natasha, of everyone the Winter Soldier had hurt.  
            "What are you?"  
            "A soldier. A tool, to make the world a better place." Bucky repeated. "A puppet on your strings."   


\--------  


It was chaos. Bullets flew everywhere, not to mention the beams of energy from Tony's gauntlets. Someone had hit the lights, which had exploded in a shower of sparks, plunging them all into darkness, broken only by the occasional flicker of the emergency lights, which were refusing to stay on. Steve had no idea what was going on. He could track Tony from the lights glowing in his suit, but Bucky had vanished entirely, melting into the darkness as if he was nothing more than shadow. Occasionally he would catch sight of a flash of metal out the corner of his eye, but even if he got the opportunity to turn, there was no further sign of him. Except for the bodies left behind.  
            "Get down!" Steve responded to Tony's shout with the reactions born in the army. He hit the floor before the sound had fully faded, screwing his eyes up against the sudden brightness as a burst of light and sound rocked the very air around him. When he opened his eyes, all was quiet, except for the quiet moans. He opened his eyes and was surprised to find Bucky looking back at him from only a foot away. The lights flickered again, but remained on. In the quiet, they both pushed up, but before they could climb fully to their feet, a sound broke through the silence. The ear piece had fallen on the floor beside its owner, but to the two super-soldiers, the sound was as clear as if it had been in their own ears.  
            "We've got the girl."  
            "Widow?"  
            "No, the other one. Dark hair."  
            "Roger that. Fall back."  
Their eyes met just as the sound of new footsteps came pounding up the stairs. But even at Steve made to move upright. A hand fastened around his arm, and he looked round. Bucky's face was grim, but his eyes were earnest.  
            "To the end of the line," he said firmly. Steve opened his mouth, but before he could make a sound Bucky had risen to his feet and turned his gun upon him.  
            "You're late," he said over his shoulder, as the new arrivals gained the landing. Then he pulled the trigger.  
            Steve jerked as the bullet ripped through his chest, staggering back until he found a wall. Bucky's eyes watched emotionlessly as he slid silently down it, still gaping at his best friend.  
            "Let's go," Bucky snapped, turning away and talking off down the stairs. His retreating back was the last thing Steve saw before his eyes closed.

   
\--------  


I went utterly still. I must have heard him wrong, must have misunderstood. Or maybe it was just a coincidence. _A puppet on your strings._ More than anything, I wanted to hope, to believe, but what if I was wrong and Rumlow was right? But Rumlow seemed confused too. He had hesitated, arm drawn back, staring at Bucky with slight apprehension. Then the moment was gone, and his arm descended and the whip swiped across Bucky's back again, leaving another line of red in its wake. He didn't make a sound.  
            "Who do you serve?"  
            "Hydra." _Crack!_ The whip descended again.  
            "It was a good plan," Rumlow said, his eyes focusing on me as much as on Bucky as he dragged the tail of the whip through his fingers, wiping blood across them. "Get in with them and take them down. Rogers was always going to fall for it. He's too eager to trust. But you should have contacted us earlier. Who do you serve?"  
            "Hydra." _Crack!_ I had to believe. _A puppet on your strings.  
_             "Of course, you might be lying. You knew how to do that before you came to us. Is it all the other way round?" My heart paused as he did. "Who do you serve?"  
            "Hydra." _Crack!  
_             "Make me believe it. Who do you serve?"  
            "Hydra." _Crack!  
_             "Not good enough. Who?"  
            "Hydra!" _Crack!_ I didn't mean to do it. The noise just slipped out, part way between moan and whimper. But it was enough. Rumlow turned on me, whirling in a second, and with my arms held firm, there was nothing I could do to avoid him. The whip whistled through the air. For a moment I thought he had missed, but then fire burned across the back of my right shoulder and up my neck and I gasped, seeing red and black as I staggered. Blinking hard, biting my tongue against the pain, I pulled myself upright again, looking up to find blue eyes watching me. And I imagined I saw a flicker in them for the first time. Still with gritted teeth, I shifted my gaze to Rumlow, but he'd already turned away.  
            "You're going to die," I said quietly. He paused, but didn't look back.  
            "Aren't we all?" He asked, and only then looked back over his shoulder. "But you'll go before me." I grinned, my head flopping down to hang off my neck. The grin became a chuckle, and the chuckle began a full laugh. I probably looked crazy, and sounded crazy. I certainly felt it. The maniacal laughter died away slowly, and I raised my head again.  
            I was going to say something clever, or funny. Something so good that Rumlow wouldn't have had a single response to it. But I never got the chance, and I never knew what I would have said. Because the door imploded in a flash of blue light.

The pain of a sudden connection with the hard floor. I tried to roll over, but everything was so heavy. All I could do was turn my head. Something red and gold and blue whipped over me in a flash of wind and heat and I closed my eyes.

A shout, the sound of a scared man crying for help. My eyes opened again. Captain America stood tall and proud as he slammed his shield into a man's face and the noise cut off. He wasn't dead. My lids fell shut again.

Arms lifting me, the world moving. But I didn't have the energy to open my eyes again. I just swayed as the world span in black around me.

Hands on my arm. I came awake in an instant, lashing out to the right and connecting with a solid mass that let out a cry of surprise.  
            "Beth!"  
            "Sam?" I croaked.  
            "Hey. It's okay, you're okay, you're safe." The whole world was trembling as I pushed myself up and looked round, my eyes locking onto Sam's before darting away. We were alone, surrounded by grey walls and pipes. Then I remembered.  
            "Natasha," I groaned, "is Natasha okay?"  
            "Shhh, she's fine," Sam assured me. "Would have come with us if we didn't practically strap her down. She was shot, but we patched her up. Speaking of," he fixed me with a firm stare, "you've still got a bullet in your shoulder."  
            "Maybe that's why it hurts so much," I winced as I slid down off the bench. The new perspective helped clear my head, and I realised we were on an aircraft. Which at that very moment, wobbled dangerously, sending me staggering backwards. "Who the hell is driving this thing?" I gasped, trying to hold my left arm steady.  
            "Nice to hear you're up and about." A voice issued through some speakers, filling the space around me.  
            "Stark," I spat through clenched teeth. "We're going to have a conversation later."  
            "I look forward to it."  
            "No, you really don't," I grumbled, pushing myself upright again, against Sam's hands. "Where's Bucky?" He hesitated. "Sam, don't play with me. Where is Bucky?" Sam raised one hand and pointed to a door.  
            "In there. Steve's with him, but... Beth stop!" But I kept going, one foot in front of the other as I lurched in the direction he'd indicated. But Sam slipped in front of me easily, placing one firm hand upon the door. "Beth, listen to me. You can't go in there."  
            "Samuel Wilson, you'd better have a good long think before telling me what I can or can't do right now," I said, though I was swaying on my feet, and my vision was starting to blacken around the edges.  
            "He's not responding well." I paused, my eyes searching Sam's even as I reached out a hand to the wall to try and steady myself. "He followed Steve on here fine, but since then, no-one's been able to get near him. He lashes out every time we try." I swallowed my fear.  
            "Then you might as well let me try, because there's no part of me that doesn't already hurt."  
            "Beth–"  
            "Open the fucking door, Sam. Now." His jaw tightened, but he opened the door, and I forced myself to walk through it. One pair of blue eyes looked up at my entrance. Steve broke off mid-sentence as he turned to me. I gave him no more than a glance before looking to the other figure. Bucky sat  curled into a ball, knees up to his chest, staring at the floor straight in front of him. He still wasn't wearing a shirt, which was probably lucky, because his back was a mess. I moved forwards, not bothering to make my steps slow or careful.  
            He didn't move until I was only a foot away, when he flinched, turning at once, metal fist raised. I stood and stared down at him until his gaze wavered, and his fist dropped back to his side.  
            "Beth," he said, and his voice was dull and empty.  
            "Hey, Buck," I whispered. "How you doing?" He shrugged, then grimaced before looking back up at me, his eyes roving over my bloody left shoulder, the red line across the side of my neck and up to my face, where I could feel a bruise forming, the result of Rumlow's backhand.    
            "You look like hell," he said, and I laughed, which hurt, but was worth it.  
            "Yeah? So do you. You should let someone look at your back." He rolled his shoulders almost absently, and shook his head.  
            "Give it an hour, they'll be closed."  
            "That goes beyond not fair." He grinned, and it looked awful, a false imitation of how the expression should be. I sank slowly down onto the floor, partly so that I wasn't standing over him anymore, partly because my legs were starting to shake. "What happened, Bucky?" I asked gently. His face flickered, worry replacing some of the blankness.  
            "I had to save you. We had to save you." He stared at me for a second, then his eyes widened, the last traces of emptiness disappearing at he leapt upwards. "Steve!"  
            "It's fine, Buck, I'm here, I'm okay," Steve said, coming to his feet at once at Bucky's cry. But it wasn't enough for him. Bucky strode across the small room in two strides, both his hands and his eyes running over Steve's chest.  
            "I shot you," he moaned.  
            "It's okay, Bucky, Bucky, look at me." Steve caught his hands with his own and held on until Bucky's eyes met his. "I'm okay." Bucky couldn't hold the intensity of those blue eyes, dropping his head forwards.  
            "I'm sorry," he whimpered, and Steve pulled him forwards, wrapping his arms around his best friend, though always careful of the raw wounds on Bucky's back. "I tried to tell you," Bucky mumbled into his shoulder.  
            "I know, I know you did. End of the line. I got it. It's okay." Steve assured him, and they clung to each other as if there was nothing else in the world. And I closed my eyes with a smile on my face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See! No more cliffhangers!!! Kinda. Sorta. Let's be honest, I've done worse. Seriously considered just giving you all only the first couple of paragraphs, but I'm not that bad....


	14. XIV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 29/10
> 
> Previously: Puppet is still around, and gets whipped by Rumlow for not reaching out to Hydra. Saviours arrive in the form of Steve, Sam and Tony. Beth pulls Bucky out of his own head.

I came awake gently but without confusion, remembering everything at once. My eyes opened, roving over the unfamiliar ceiling above me, expanding into wider circles, sliding down the walls. Everything was dark, expect for a sliver of gold seeping in from under a door to my right. The faint illumination was just enough for me to make out the sparse room, all white and clean. It made me feel worse, like my presence was sullying the pristine environment. Around the head of my bed were an assortment of machines and monitors, but they were all silent and dark. I looked the other way and smiled. Bucky was curled in a chair in the corner, knees up to his chest, both arms wrapped around them, head burrowing into the middle of it all. I could imagine that when he'd still had long hair it would have completely hidden his face, but with it cut back, I could take the time to run my eyes over his features. They looked peaceful, until his nose twitched slightly, and his expression slid into blankness. My stomach twisted.  
            "Bucky?" I whispered, and there was a hitch in my voice. He came awake instantly, springing upright as his eyes swept the room once before coming to rest on me.  
            "Beth!" he said, snapping on a small light beside his chair before taking a single step forwards. "Are you okay?" I looked straight into his blue eyes, so full of worry, of emotion, and I broke.  
            He looked horrified as I sobbed, tears flowing down my cheeks as my whole torso trembled.  
            "Beth," he croaked, retreating back towards the door. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry... I'll get Sam. It's going to be okay, please, please don't cry." It broke my heart to see him retreating, terrified of my reaction. But I couldn't get the words to reassure him out of my mouth. So I just held out a pleading hand, begging him not to leave. He stopped, eyeing me cautiously, not quite believing what I was trying to say. My stretching fingertips prevailed, and he took a hesitant step back towards me. Too slow. I lurched forwards, somehow lifting myself up as I rolled sideways out of the bed. My legs shook under me as they hit the floor, and I only managed one step towards him before they crumpled. But he caught me. He caught me, both his arms scooping me up before I could hit the floor and guiding me back over to the bed. Trying to stem the flow of tears, I raised a hand to his face, and he froze, those blue eyes, so full of life, darting between my own.  
            "Are... you okay?" I forced out. He let out a laugh as his metal hand came up to cover mine.  
            "You're asking _me_ if _I'm_ okay?" But I didn't laugh, refusing to look away. "I'm fine," he said, the laughter dying away as his face turned serious. "I'm okay." And I was gone again.

 

It took me seven minutes to cry myself out. The clock on the wall told me so, in between informing me that it was 2 in the morning. No wonder it was dark. Bucky never made a sound, just holding onto me as we both sat on the bed, his right hand running up and down my back until I was able to raise my head from his shoulder.  
            "How long was I out?" I asked, my voice rough.  
            "About a day and a half," he told me, watching as I ran my fingers over my ribs, assessing damage. "They patched you up, took the bullet out of your shoulder." Sure enough, I could move my left arm again. It still hurt of course, but compared to the agony of before, it was nothing more than a flash of warmth.  
            "Your back?" I asked cautiously, but he shook his head.  
            "Fine. Practically gone." I didn't know whether to smile or scowl as I stared off at the wall, unsure of whether or not I wanted to ask the next question. Bucky let me stew and eventually, I plucked up my courage.  
            "What happened?" He was silent for almost as long as I'd been, and I let the silence stretching, watching his hands out the corner of my eyes.  
            "They took you," he said, and his voice was low, almost a growl. "We heard it through their comms... and we..." I glanced round and saw that his eyes were closed, his mouth twisted in pain. With a deep breath in, he opened his eyes again, and they were like blue diamonds, shining, unbreakable. "I could hear more agents coming up the stairs." His tone was different, cold and hard as he pushed the words out, as though if he thought about what he was saying, he would lose his nerve. "So we shot Steve, and went with them."  
            "We?" I breathed, and he nodded.  
            "I knew Steve would come after us, but I had to go then, to stay with them. He knew what to do," Bucky swallowed, looking away. "So he did. I let him do anything, and I just watched." Unable to still my hands, I reached over and took his left hand in my right, squeezing the cold metal between my fingers, feeling my warmth leech into it. Bucky didn't look round, but he did return the pressure gently.  
            "Thank you," I whispered, and he hung his head, trying to hid from my gratitude. "Is he okay?" I asked tentatively, rather than push the point. Bucky nodded.  
            "He's hiding again, tired. But yeah, he's okay."  
            "How did they find us?" He shrugged.  
            "I don't know. I just trusted that they would, or that I could get to you before... before it was too late." I tried not to think about that. He hadn't been too late. He hadn't. "But then they came, and we knew which side we were on, so..."  
            "Are they dead? The hydra agents," I asked, and my voice was suddenly almost as hard as his had been. He paused before he answered, as if considering whether or not to be honest.  
            "Yes," he said finally. "Yes, they're dead." I closed my eyes, and tried not to examine my own feelings. Saviour came in the form on a light tap on the door, with opened a sliver to reveal Sam's eye peering through the gap. At the sight of us both sitting on the bed, he pushed the door fully open, slipping inside quietly with a gentle smile, which I was glad to see was directed at both of us.  
            "Hey, Beth," he said, perching on the arm of the chair Bucky had vacated. "How are you doing?"  
            "I'm okay," I said. "How's everyone else?" Sam smiled.  
            "Fine. Everyone's fine. Nat's up and about, Tony managed to fix most of the damage they did when they infiltrated this place, Steve helped a little." For some reason his eyes flicked to Bucky before returning to me. "I've just been getting in the way." He winked and I smiled, but the expression slid off my face as I asked him the same question I'd put to Bucky.  
            "What happened?" His smile faded too as his eyes dropped to the floor. And for a second it wasn't Sam my boss in front of me, or even Sam my friend. It was just a man who'd seen and done far more than he'd ever wanted to. Again, his eyes flicked to Bucky.  
            "We don't know. We don't know if they knew we were here, or were just after Tony, or what. We don't really know how they got in. It looks like they hacked into the maintenance crew schedule, and killed the real crew before taking their place." Three jaws clenched at the thought. Sam relaxed first and continued with the telling. "You know what happened next." I looked down, trying not to relive the memories, and the vagueness of Bucky's description. "But they weren't all dead. One of them had been pretending. He shot Natasha, then you, just as another lot came up the stairs from lower down." I still couldn't meet his eyes, but stared at my bare feet, swinging just off the floor. "You..." Sam paused, then pushed on. "You fell down the stairs." I'd guessed that. I could feel the bruises. "And I... Beth, I tried to get to you, I swear I did. But they had me pinned, and I couldn't..." I looked up, into Sam's desperate, pleading eyes, and I felt his pain.  
            "I know," I said quietly. "I know, Sam." But he still looked wretched, so I slid off the bed, wobbling a little on my unsteady legs, and limped over to him. He embraced me carefully, cautious of my many sore spots, but we still held each other tightly murmuring endless apologies and dismissals into the other's ear. It was with damp eyes again that I broke away, half falling backwards as my feet struggled to keep up before Bucky's mismatched hands guided me back onto the bed as Sam continued.  
            "I got Natasha up to Medical, and found Tony was already there with Steve..." We both shot a glance at Bucky then, who grimaced a little but didn't say anything. "She... wasn't good. Steve was fine, shot went straight through him, flesh wound only, he was up in a couple of hours. Damn good shot." Bucky didn't smile at Sam's last murmured comment, but his expression did lighten a little. "I told them what had happened, and we managed to keep Nat stable until the medical team turned up, and sorted her out." He paused then, and I had an inkling of why, but I wasn't going to make an assumption with this. Not when my whole world had been turned upside down in the last however-many days.  
            "And?" I prompted him. Sam grimaced as he looked away.  
            "Steve told us what had happened." His eyes flicked to Bucky again. "And started trying to drag himself out of bed and track you down." Bucky flashed a slight smile at that image, but Sam's face remained stony. "But..."  
            "Tony," I finished. Sam's face confirmed my suspicion. "He didn't believe it. He thought we were with them." Sam shook his head sadly.  
            "It was kinda lucky Steve was still down. I thought they were going to come to blows. Start a civil war or something." I winced at the very thought.  
            "But Steve convinced him?" Sam jerked his head in a non-committal sort of way.  
            "Tony agreed to help. I don't know if he was actually convinced until... until we found you." I looked away. I'd been right; I was going to have a conversation with Tony Stark and he was not going to enjoy it.  
            "Where are we now?" I asked Sam, my eyes on the white walls and hospital bed.  
            "Back at the Tower," he told me. "I think it's Tony's way of apologising." I didn't say anything, a yawn closing my eyes and Sam pushed to his feet before I could say anything else. "You should get some more rest," he said, taking a step sideways to the door, and Bucky stood up too, though a little more slowly.  
            "Hey, Sam," He paused, turning back, "do me a favour - tell Tony I only accept apologies in person." He grinned as he stepped out into the corridor, but waited, holding the door open, his eyes firmly fixed on Bucky, who returned the gaze for a moment before watching me crawl back up the bed and lie back down. When he turned away, I called him back.  
            "Hey." He returned to my side hesitantly, but returned my smile. "Thank you." His smile became a little sad, but his hand was firm as he gripped mine for a second.  
            "Get some more sleep," he advised quietly, before walking away. Curling up on my side, I tried to ignore the various dull aches throughout my body as my eyes closed. The door did not close, I could hear two voices cutting through the quiet.  
            "He's awake," Sam said, his voice low. "thought I'd let you know."  
            "How long?" Bucky asked.  
            "About ten minutes before I came in." Sam told him, then there was a slight pause. "Buck, are you sure you're ready for this? You don't have to..."  
            "Yeah, I do." Bucky cut across him, and when Sam didn't reply, I heard a single set of footsteps retreating. The second set left after only a couple of seconds. I shifted slightly, trying to take some of the weight off my ribs, trying to picture Steve and Bucky together. Talking, hopefully. There was still a lot for them to work though, especially after Bucky's short return to Hydra. But Steve would help him get through it, was possibly the only one who could. I was a temporary addition to his life; a fleeting anomaly. Steve was a constant. _And Puppet_? A small voice asked me. My eyes opened, staring at the dark wall opposite. Puppet was going to be okay. The thought was part determined resolution, and part hopeful dream. But I believed it as best I could as my eyes drifted shut again.  
            My feet were cold at the bottom of the bed. I flexed them, trying to work some warmth into the surrounding sheets. All that I got was cramp in the arch of my foot. Cursing, I jerked upright, my hands clamping over the pain, trying to rub it out as I gritted my teeth. The sudden movement had pulled on my shoulder which throbbed painfully, but I focused on the tightness in my foot to drown it out. It took nearly a minute for the cramp to loosen; I watched the second hand on the clock turn on its lazy circle. But even once the pain had faded, I knew I wouldn't be able to get back to sleep. My head was buzzing. And my feet were still cold.  
            "Jarvis?" I asked tentatively, reluctant to break the silence.  
            " _Yes?_ "  
            "Do you know what happened to my backpack?"  
            " _I believe it has been returned to your room._ " I groaned, even as I slipped down, my feet whimpering at the contact with the chill floor, and took an experimental step towards the door. When my legs remained steady under me, I took another step, then another, until I reached the door, and pulled it open. The corridor outside was obscenely bright, and I screwed up my eyes against the light.  
            "Which way, Jarvis?"  
            " _Left._ " With Jarvis guiding me, I made it back up to the familiar sight of the floor I'd shared with the others for such a short time, which felt so long ago. I hadn't encountered a soul on the way up, and all was quiet here as well. But I put the issue aside while I changed into cleaner clothes and a very thick pair of socks. Only then did I pad through the quiet space, my head swivelling as my ears strained to pick up sounds of life.  
            "Where's Steve?" I asked eventually.  
            " _Captain Rogers is asleep_." I frowned, coming to a halt in the middle of the living room.  
            "What? Sam told Bucky he was awake." There was a moment of silence. "Jarvis?" I growled.  
            " _I don't believe that Mr Wilson was referring to Captain Rogers at that time._ "  
            "So who was he _referring to_?" I demanded. More silence. I changed tact. "Where's Bucky?"  
            " _Mr Stark is on his way up_." I had to bite back a snarl. But apparently that was all he was going to tell me, so I waited in silence until the lift doors slid open, and, for the second time, I watched Tony Stark walk out of them. This time, his manner was markedly different. Gone was the pomp and the swagger and the drama of his last entrance. This one was quiet, reserved, cautious. Tony seemed to be steeling himself as he closed the gap between us, finally stopping only a couple of feet away. But he met my gaze firmly.  
            "I owe you an apo..." WHAM! I covered the distance between us in one stride, my right fist snapping forwards to connect solidly with his jaw and actually forced him to take a step back. The punch also left me with the suspicion of broken knuckles, but I was beyond caring. I towered over him, vibrating with anger.  
            "That was for thinking I was part of Hydra," I growled.  
            "Okay," Tony said, rubbing his face, "I might have deserved that."  
            "You _deserve_ several more," I said coldly. "For trying to leave us there."  
            "But I didn't!"  
            "Only because Steve bullied you into helping!"  
            "That's not true!"  
            "Isn't it!?"  
            "I'm sorry!" That one shut me up. We stared at each other, both somewhere between anger and wariness. "I'm sorry," he repeated. I let out a long breath and backed off a step. My hand was still throbbing, but the pain was fading. "I'm sorry. I was paranoid."  
            "Black Sabbath," I said, remembering the two words that had started the doubt.  
            "How did you know?" Tony asked.  
            "I didn't," I said, with a shrug of my right shoulder. "The first picture on Google Images is you in an AC-DC t-shirt. I just extrapolated. It was a guess." He scowled, shaking his head wryly.  
            "I thought you'd had this place bugged or something." I snorted lightly as I shook my head.  
            "Do you know where Bucky is?" I asked, ready to put this behind us. Tony's face closed off suddenly.  
            "Yes," he said, and his tone was wary. I drew back slightly, frowning at his reluctance.  
            "And?"  
            "They didn't tell you?"  
            "I wouldn't be asking you if they had," I pointed out, but Tony avoided my gaze. He and Jarvis really were quite the pair, I thought to myself. "Tony. Where. Is. Bucky?" Tony took a breath and finally raised his eyes to mine.  
            "He's in interrogation," he said. I took five seconds. Just five seconds for myself, to try and process the simple sentence. It didn't help.  
            "And why, _exactly_ , is he..." I spat out.  
            "He's not the one being interrogated," Tony cut across me. My stomach dropped. Followed quickly by my heart and my voice box.  
            "Where?" I croaked. Tony shook his head.  
            "You don't want to..."  
            "Where!?" He met my gaze, then stepped aside, pointing back towards the lift. I walked past him without shaking, heard him call the AI as if from a dream. The doors opened as I reached them, and then slid shut behind me. The lift dropped so fast that I staggered. Or maybe my legs had just given up. Leaning on the wall, I gasped for breath as I dropped lower and lower. Interrogation. Who was Bucky interrogating? How? Did I really want to know? When the doors finally opened, it was to a picture from a horror movie. Grey walls, grey floor, strip lighting. More than anything, I wanted to go back, to retreat from whatever was waiting down here and return to the light above. But I took a step forwards. Bucky was down here.  
            " _Right. Third door on the left_ ," Jarvis said quietly. I didn't answer him, just walking numbly down the corridor until I reached the door he'd directed me to. And I pushed it open.

 

Sam and Natasha both looked round as the sound. I barely noticed their presence, all my focus instantly on the window behind them. And the two people beyond it. Rumlow was sitting in a chair, his arms drawn back out of sight, his chest rising and falling fast as he glared upwards. He was a mess, his burned face covered in blood, small round pairs of burn marks all over his chest. Standing over him was Bucky, his face cold and hard as he shoved a black rod forwards. There was a crackle and a flash of blue light as electricity surged. Rumlow's body went taught, every muscle standing out against his skin as his body strained, searching for an escape. But he didn't scream. It wasn't until Bucky had withdrawn the baton from him, and was circling like a predator that knows its prey is finished that he opened his mouth.  
            "It won't make any difference," he said, and his voice, issuing from speakers into the smaller room, sounded tinny and fake, but I could still hear the pain under the tone. "Cut off one head, two more grow back."  
            "Then it's a good thing I'm done cutting off heads," Bucky said, and his voice was like winter ice on a pavement, cold and hard. "I'm going to cut out the heart, and burn the rest to the ground." Rumlow tried to laugh. The sound was like a death rattle, and blood dribbled out of his mouth.  
            "You won't win. Kill me or not, you'll never win." Bucky's hand descended again, and his body went taut once more as electricity coursed through it. This time, he didn't manage to hold in his scream. Sam's body suddenly blocked my view as he stepped in front of me.  
            "You don't need to see this, Beth," he said in a low voice. "Go back upstairs." I barely heard the words. But I took a step back and shut the door. Turning to the right, I walked eight strides down the grey corridor and opened another door, and this time the scene was real, only feet away from me, and I watched in horrifying detail as Bucky plunged a knife into Rumlow's shoulder.


	15. VX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 9/11
> 
> Many thanks to the 3 guests who've left kudos since the last update, and to Ladybug for the two comments.
> 
> Previously: Beth wakes up, punches Tony in the face and walks in on Bucky torturing Rumlow.

Bucky looked up at me, but I couldn't return his gaze. My eyes were fixed upon the single bead of blood that was sliding slowly down Rumlow's chest. He was the first to speak.  
            "I told you," he said, through gritted teeth. "I told you he would never be human again." Bucky twisted the knife and Rumlow gasped in pain as two more bead of blood chased after the first one.  
            "You shouldn't be here," Bucky said, his voice low, and I finally raised my eyes to his.  
            "Bucky..." The word was little more than a whisper. I had no idea what to say, or even what I wanted to say.  
            "I mean it, Beth," he said. "Go."  
            "So you can carry on?" His face hardened.  
            "Yes." I had to clench my jaw to keep my chin from trembling. I shook my head.   "Beth, go!" Bucky growled.  
            "No," I said. Two pairs of eyes fixed on me, until Bucky pulled the knife out of Rumlow's shoulder, and he closed his eyes, gritting his teeth against the pain. I knew that expression, had worn it on my face. He'd put it there. Bucky took a step towards me, but I didn't back away, even though his face was so very different from the one I'd come to know. It was worse than when it had been empty. I would rather have seen the blankness than the expression on it now, an expression I couldn't name. But I didn't retreat. Instead I took a step forwards, letting the door swing shut behind me.  
            "You need to leave. Now," Bucky growled, but my advance had surprised him, and he didn't take another step forwards.  
            "No," I repeated, and my voice was stronger. "This is wrong."  
            "Tell me he didn't do exactly the same to you," Bucky demanded. I gritted my teeth, feeling the pain across my neck where the whip had struck me.  
            "That doesn't mean I'd wish it on him!" I snarled.  
            "You don't know what he's done!" Bucky roared.  
            "Then kill him!" I shouted back. Then I realised what I'd said and clapped a hand to my mouth. Bucky didn't say a word as I swayed, closing my eyes as I tried to convince myself that I hadn't meant it. But what other option was there? I took my hand away from my mouth and opened my eyes.  
            "Kill him," I repeated, "and finish it." Without looking at Rumlow, I turned and fled the room.

 

Tony had gone. I was eternally grateful for that, that I didn't have to hold up a front. But despite the lack of witnesses, I didn't break. I just stood in the empty space. I felt so lost, so empty. What had I done? What was Bucky doing now? Was Rumlow dead already, bullet to the back of the head, jerk of a knife across a throat? Was it my fault? Or was he still being tortured? I walked forwards without thinking about it, without seeing where I was going. What had I done?

 

It only took five minutes for Bucky to come up. I was sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter when the lift opened. Without even looking up, I recognised the glint of metal in my peripheral vision. Not saying a word, I dipped my spoon into the huge tin of chocolate pudding and brought it back to my mouth. I hadn't bothered with a bowl. Bucky came over slowly, stopping a few feet away and watching me eat. After a couple more mouthfuls, I leaned sideways and took another spoon from the drawer beside me, pushing it, and the tin, across towards him. He hesitated for a moment before picking up the utensil.  
            "Careful," I said dully, without looking up. "it's industrial strength." Bucky hesitated at my words, then took a spoonful and ate. I let him have two more mouthfuls before I spoke again. "Rumlow?" Bucky paused, empty spoon hovering in mid-air.  
            "He's dead." I reached out, took the tin back and scooped up another mouthful. The sweet chocolate tasted like ash in my mouth. "I've fucked up," Bucky said, "haven't I?" I finally raised my gaze, only to find that he wasn't looking at me, but staring down at the counter between his hands.  
            "I don't know," I said honestly. "I don't know where to go from here." There was silence as we passed the chocolate between us until our spoons were scraping the bottom.  
            "I'm sorry," Bucky finally said, as he laid down his spoon. Mine rattled loudly as I dropped it into the empty tin and pushed it away, turning to face him fully.  
            "For which bit?" I demanded. "Are you sorry for doing it, or just sorry that I walked in?" His face hardened, and I thought I saw a flash of Puppet in his eyes.  
            "I'm sorry that you had to see it," he said bluntly. I nodded slowly.  
            "That's what I thought." I pushed to my feet, and Bucky's eyes followed me sadly.  
            "Beth—"  
            "I need to think." I said brusquely, and walked away. He let me go.

 

Curled up on the bed that was not mine, I didn't move as the room grew dark around me. All the pains in my body seemed irrelevant to the gaping hole in my head, the blankness where my thoughts had once been. I didn't know what to think, or do. In the end, I slept, losing myself in broken dreams. And when I awoke, I knew what I had to do.

 

They were all in the sitting room, lounging on the sofas as they talked, but falling silent as I stopped in the hallway.  
            "Hey, Beth," Sam was the one to break the silence. "How are—"  
            "I'm going home," I cut across, without looking at any of them. Without looking at _him_. "Now." There was silence. I could almost feel them exchanging glances, but still didn't raise my eyes until a single set of boots stopped in front of me. Sam smiled as I lifted my gaze to his face.  
            "You'll be okay," he said, with total conviction, and I couldn't help but smile back as he stepped forwards and pulled me into a hug. I dropped my backpack to the floor as I returned the embrace.  
            "Thank you," I murmured. "For everything." He squeezed me in response.  
            "I'll drop in at work," he said as he pulled back, and if my smile was a little watery, he made no comment.  
            "Seems like your new job is working out pretty well for you," I said, and he smiled.  
            "Yeah,. I guess it is." He stepped back, and Steve took his place. He didn't waste any time, and even though he was gentle, I could still feel the strength in his arms as he hugged me.  
            "Thank you," He whispered in my ear, "for bringing him back to me."  
            "Take care of him," I begged, and he nodded before we broke apart. Tony was next. He hesitated, hands in his pockets as he eyes me warily.  
            "You're not going to punch me again are you?" I chocked back a laughed and shook my head. "Alright then." He stuck out a hand and I shook it. "You need anything, you know where I am," he said, and I smiled.  
            "Thank you." He nodded and stepped back. Natasha rose to her feet quite steadily, despite the sling holding her left arm. She nodded at me, and I nodded back. Then there was silence, and my eyes moved sideways. Bucky wasn't looking at me, but was staring determinately at the glass of water clenched between his two hands. For a second, I hesitated, then picked up my backpack and walked across to the lift. I was halfway there when I heard the smashing sound.  
            Whirling round, I just had time to see glass fragments falling to the floor under a new wet patch on the wall, then I received a face full of soldier. Bucky had launched himself across the room and the backpack was forgotten as I threw my arms around him. And my sore shoulder, my aching ribs, the sting across my neck, were all inconsequential as I held onto him just as tightly as he held me.  
            "Don't go," he moaned. "Please. I need you." I swallowed down my tears as I pulled back until I could rest my forehead against his.  
            "No you don't," I whispered "You're going to be okay Bucky. You're a survivor. And you're going to keep on surviving."  
            "I need you." The words were barely more than a breath, and I squeezed my eyes tighter as tears began to leak out from under them.  
            "No. Not anymore. And you've got Steve. You'll be okay." He shook his head, I could feel the movement against my own.  
            "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have... If I could take it back... I wish..."  
            "Stop." I pulled back and opened my eyes. His remained closed, head bowed, tear tracks glistening on his cheeks. "It's okay. Bucky." He finally looked up at me, with those blue eyes I knew I would never forget. "You did what had to be done. It's okay. But I need to go. I need to get through this on my own." He tried to look down again, but I caught his chin before he could held his gaze.  
            "I'm glad I stopped." I knew he'd understood when he closed his eyes again, but I wasn't done yet. There was one more person I had to say goodbye to. So I took a deep breath.  
            "I need to talk to him." He didn't open his eyes again, but his face twitched once before it went still, and then Puppet looked up. He didn't flinch away from my gaze, but pegged me with a fearsome stare. The effect was lessened somewhat by the remnants of Bucky's tears.  
            "Puppet," I said, but my use of his ridiculous, stupid name didn't make him smile.  
            "So that's it," he said angrily. "It's over. It's just that easy to walk away." I choked slightly on laughter and tears as I gave him a look.  
            "It's not easy," I said. "None of this is easy. But it's what I need to do." He looked away.  
            "This is because of what he did isn't it? What _I_ did. And now you can't look at us without seeing a monster." I shoved him backwards, anger making my hands strong.  
            "Don't you dare," I snapped. "Don't you put thoughts in my head. Especially not ones which are so god-damn untrue. Yes, I saw what you did. But I know that it had to be done. And you will never, _ever_ , be a monster to me." For a moment, we just stood there as I glared at him, until a new tear rolled down his cheek and I swore under my breath as I pulled him back towards me, and held him as his back shook.  
            "What am I suppose to do?" Puppet whispered, his words muffled in my neck. "I don't want to go back, to disappear."  
            "You won't," I promised him. "You're here, and you'll always be here." _With me_. "Bucky knows that now. He's not trying to get rid of you any more is he?" Puppet shook his head against me until I pulled away and lifted his face up. "No more giving him a hard time though. I don't want to hear about him on anymore rooftops." Puppet actually hiccupped at that, which drew a soft laugh from me as he glowered. But I smoothed the lines away with my hands as I took a step back.  
            It was hard to walk away from them, from him. Like I was fighting against a second gravity, it took physical effort to pick up my backpack and walk into the lift. And though I shouldn't have, though I knew it would haunt me, I turned around for one last look. They were all watching me in silence, but it was only one pair of eyes that I gazed into until the doors closed between us.

 

I wiped my face on my sleeve as the lift began to descend.  
            " _Mr Stark had directed that a car be brought around for you._ " A voice informed me. " _It will be collected from your place of residence later._ " My throat closed up at the thought.  
            "Tell him... Tell him I said thank you," I said. "Later. Tell him later."  
            " _I will._ "  
            "He and Bucky... his parents... did they..."  
            " _I believe they talked._ " I let out a breath.  
            "Thank you, Jarvis. For everything. I'll miss you." I let out a weak laugh, because I'd cried enough. "I'd give you a hug if I could." There was a moment's pause, when I thought that he wouldn't respond. Then there was a sudden blast of warm air from the ceiling.  
            " _I'll miss you too._ " And it seemed that there _were_ more tears that I could shed. I had to wipe my face again before I left the lift, and kept my eyes down as I walked quickly across the reception and pushed open the glass door.  
            The sleek black car was pretty, but subtle too, not a flashy sports car, but still elegant. The man standing beside it handed me the keys without meeting my eyes, but I smiled at him anyway, more out of habit than anything else before climbing into the car, dropping my backpack in the back seat. I drove off on auto-pilot, very glad that I'd taken the time to get an American driving licence, and even more so that the car had a built in sat-nav.

 

The journey home took no time at all. One blink and I'd passed through Philadelphia. Another second and Baltimore was behind me. My route through DC took me passed the VA. I didn't look out the window, keeping my eyes firmly ahead until it was behind me. By some miracle, I came along the street outside my flat just as another car was pulling out of a space, and I slipped the little black car into it at once. Then  I paused. What should I do with the keys? I sat, considering for several minutes. I could leave them here, but that would mean leave Tony Stark's car unlocked. No, I was not going to do that. So I would take the keys will me. Maybe leave a note on the seat with my apartment number? But as I glanced around for paper, my eyes caught on something else. The display in the dashboard, that had been giving me directions all the way home, was no longer displaying a map, but two lines of simple text.  
_Leave the keys in the car. It will be locked remotely.  
_             I put my head down on the steering wheel and laughed. It took a few minutes to subside, and I shook my head as I glanced around, eventually leaving the keys in the cup holder, under a napkin. Grabbing my backpack, I slid out of the car and slammed the door shut, giving it a quick pat on the bonnet. The lights flashed as I walked away.

 

My flat looked different, foreign. As if I'd forgotten my old life in three short days. I paused at that thought, trying to think. Had to really been only three days? My phone was sitting on the kitchen worktop and I turned it on, checking the date. I was right. I hadn't even missed any work. I'd missed a couple of texts, one from the mobile company, the other from the building manager. My e-mail had been a little more active, with messages from one of my friends back in England, and two from people I knew here, among the general spam. I shut the laptop down without reading any of them, and stood in the middle of the living room, turning in a slow circle.  
            That was the kitchen counter where he'd leaned as I'd made pasta for us. That was bit of floor where he'd crumbled after Steve had confirmed his favourite colour had been green. That was the couch where we'd both fallen asleep after he'd come back in the middle of the night. That was the door I'd opened to find him pacing in the hallway, the door that I'd put my back to as I'd held him while he fell to pieces. I closed my eyes and walked blindly into the bedroom, closing the door behind me.  
            In the bathroom, I did the same thing with the bruises on my body. Those where from where I'd fallen down the stairs in Stark Tower. That angry red circle was where I'd been shot. The longer gash where I'd been shot in the park. That line that stretched over the other shoulder was where Rumlow's whip had lashed out at me. That blue patch on my ribs where he'd punched me. The matching shade on my face where his backhand had caught me seconds later. I'd need an excuse for that one.  
            Curled up in my bed ten minutes later, duvet pulled up to my chin, I didn't think of any of that. All I could think of was Bucky's face as the lift doors had closed. There was so much more I should have said to him. How I didn't care how much pain I'd had to endure, I was glad to have known him. How I forgave him for what had happened in that grey room under Stark Tower. That I would never forget either of them. That if I'd thought I could stay, I would have. How leaving was the hardest thing I'd ever had to do. I should have said I was sorry. It was too late now. I cried myself to sleep and knew that it wouldn't be the last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the last full chapter. Epilogue to come soon. 
> 
> My thanks to ShinyBlue for letting me use the "industrial strength" chocolate pudding. Sorry for the context I put it in...


	16. XVI - Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 14/11
> 
> Thanks to the guest for the kudos, ShinyBlue for the comment and madilovesu12345 for both!

The sun was shining, an indication of spring's imminent arrival, though the air was still crisp and my breath formed plumes of smoke in the air before my face as I walked. The chill didn't bother me though, it reminded me of Christmas in England; no snow on the ground, but a bite in the air. The sky had been the exact same shade of pale blue, dashed with the same wispy clouds. Dragging my gaze from the sky, I shook off the memories as I leapt lightly up the steps in front of the VA and pushed the door open, revelling in the deliciously warm air as Max looked up from the reception desk.  
            "Hey Beth, how are you?"  
            "Good thanks," I answered automatically. "You?" He nodded absently as I walked past, his eyes scanning down a page of text covered in highlighting and red marks. Smiling in sympathy, I shook my head as I walked down the corridor, hesitating at a closed door. My fingers rose of their own accord to brush against the darker piece of wood where the sign saying 'Sam Wilson' had once resided. But no more. Dropping my hand, I walked on to my locker, shrugging my coat off my shoulders without a single twinge of pain. It had been a month since the wound had bothered me, though the small circular scar remained. Healed, but not erased.  
            Snapping the locker shut, I turned and retraced my footsteps back towards reception, without looking at Sam's office door. I'd only seen Sam once since I'd walked out of Stark Tower, when he'd officially handed in his resignation. Our eyes had met across the reception and my feet had frozen. The memory of watching his back disappear towards a staircase, ready to fight, had overwhelmed me until I forgot to breathe. Only when he'd looked away did I managed to take a lungful of air. We'd come face to face less than five minutes later, coming to a halt feet away from each other in a hallway that had emptied surprisingly fast. It had been shockingly awkward, standing staring at him without a clue of what to say. He'd broken the silence.  
            "Are you okay?" I'd nodded without breaking eye contact.  
            "Yeah... yeah, I'm okay. You?"  
            "Yeah, I'm fine." Another moment of silence.  
            "And..." Sam hadn't made me say his name.  
            "He's doing good. Two steps forwards, one step back, but it's progress." I'd smiled then, or tried to. It might not have worked properly. We'd talked more, but not said anything else. And then Sam had walked out the door for the last time.  
            Of course, there was the other time I'd seen him, seen them all, but the images on a TV screen weren't the same. I'd been working that day, serving lunch when all the screens around the mess hall had gone blank. The words "Breaking News" flashing up hadn't been nearly enough warning to see Bucky's face, and I'd nearly dropped the plate I was holding. He'd been a mess; his face a patchwork of cuts and grazes, but his eyes were alive, and he was smiling in a tired sort of way. The picture had zoomed out, and I'd choked on air at the sight of him so casually integrated into the Avengers line-up. Sam was there too, a similarly triumphant smile on his face.  
            It had taken less than a day for the world to find out that the man with the metal arm was Sergeant James Barnes, and the internet had promptly gone into melt-down. It wasn't all amazement and happiness though. People hadn't forgotten about the incident with the Triskelion, and with all the files on the internet, they knew about the Winter Soldier. The ensuing debate was still going on, and #MurdererOrHero continued to trend. I kept my mouth shut on the subject.  
            Yes, the Winter Soldier had been a murderer, and Bucky Barnes was one too. But he was a hero too. For the first few days after the story broke, the Avengers had remained silent on the subject. But when they'd spoken, they'd spoken out loud and strong. Bucky was one of them. Anyone who had something to say to him, could say it to all of them. One reporter had said that Bucky should go on trial for his crimes as the Winter Soldier. Steve, Tony, Sam, Natasha and all the others had given the same glare at the same time, and the reporter had quite literally cringed. I'd smiled at that. People became a little less aggressive after that, but new pictures of Bucky, most of them taken from a distance, continued to pop up on the internet. There was even one of Steve and Bucky standing side by side, looking down at Bucky's headstone. My favourite one though, was of them at the Smithsonian. It had only surfaced a couple of days ago, and I did my best not to think about the fact that they'd been in the city so recently. The picture was clearly taken a second after Bucky had shoved Steve sideways. He was staggering with a comical expression on his face, and Bucky was laughing, his arm still out-stretched, his eyes dancing with laughter. He looked happy.  
            "Beth?" I jumped, coming back to the present with a jerk as I raised my eyes.  
            "Sorry," I said, rubbing my face, "I was miles away." Joey smiled at me.  
            "I could tell." I stuck my tongue out at him. Joey had been here since just after Sam had left, spending his days like I did, doing whatever needed to be done to try and heal the people here. And he was good at it. The sound of his whistling tunes permeating the hallways made me smile, and made others smile too. I knew that he'd recognised the face on the TV, it had been clear in his expression, but no-one else had made the connection to the man with long hair who'd trailed me around for half a week. I was grateful for that. I didn't want the questions that would come from that link, but Joey hadn't asked any. He just slid into life here like he'd been missing all along, and we'd never noticed. Realising I'd fallen silent again, I shook myself and looked up. Joey was still watching me, but not pushing, just waiting. I flashed him a quick, genuine smile.  
            "Thanks, Joey," He didn't answer, but let out a quick two-tone whistle as we walked away from each other. I climbed the stairs, careful not to sink back into more memories, and slipped through a door on the left.  
            "Morning all," I called as I strode the length of the ward, smiling at the greetings from all sides. I'd done what I'd meant to when I'd left Bucky and the others; I'd healed.

 

I awoke that night the same was I always did, in silence and shaking. Sitting up I let my eyes rove over the faintly illuminated room. It was empty. Of course it was empty. But that didn't stop me checking every single time. Or getting up and padding through the flat to check that the door was locked before I went back to bed. Where I lay awake for an hour before I dropped back into sleep.

 

The next day was Sunday, and I spent the morning in the kitchen with Lizzie, cooking up a storm for a big Sunday lunch. We didn't do it every week, but we had a couple of extra hands on the rota today, so we chopped and boiled and roasted until the kitchen was filled with steam and there were more carrots than anyone could ever eat. It was something of a game, trying to get forty plates made up at once, but we managed, Joey running back and forth, delivering plates to tables for those who were less steady on their feet. Then for half an hour, there was no sound but the clattering of cutlery, cheerful voices and bright laughter. I sat on the same table as Joey, and joined in when the guys pushed him for a song. The whole room went quiet as he started off with a whistled cover of the Harry Potter theme, which earned him a round of applause. Someone had dug out the microphone to the small set of speakers at the other side of the room, and there was a ripple of whooping as Joey climbed to his feet and snatched it out of the air, grinning as he leapt lightly onto a spare table, drawing a scandalised gasp from Liz. He waited for silence, tilting his head in consideration before he began to sing. I didn't try to hold back my smile as I watched him. He had turned his life around, and I could barely recognise him as the silent man who'd sat alone in a room for days on end.  
            Joey never reached the second chorus of _The Parting Glass_. His voice trailed away as he stared over our heads, face going slack as his eyes focused on the double doors behind us. We all turned, but from my vantage point, I couldn't see whatever it was that had caught his attention.  
            "Sorry." That was Sam's voice, and he stepped into view with a sheepish expression. "Didn't mean to interrupt." But no-one cared, because he wasn't alone.

There was a ripple of movement across the entire hall as every single one of the veterans rose to their feet and snapped into salutes.  
            Through the thicket of bodies, I could see Steve and Bucky, watched as their faces tightened with emotion, but they returned the salutes perfectly. There was a moment of awkward silence after they all dropped their hands, then lots of scrapping of chairs as the veterans all sank back down onto their seats. Steve shot Bucky a grin, clapping him on the shoulder before they parted, moving slowly through the tables, shaking hands and exchanging words. I couldn't move. I'd forgotten how to breathe. Luckily, no-one was looking at me, all eyes focused on the two super-soldiers. My eyes were fixed on only one of them. Bucky looked just as calm as Steve as he moved slowly between the veterans, a smile and a handshake always at the ready. He looked... like anyone else. Normal. Maybe even happy. I stood up slowly, as if I was in a dream, walking across the hall without really seeing anything around me. There were sounds and colours and movement, but they were all insignificant. None of it mattered. Circling round a table, I approached from the side, and was just in range to hear Mark asking for a picture with Bucky. He agreed with an easy smile and Mark whipped out his phone at once.  
            "I'll take it," I said, holding out my hand. Bucky looked up and stopped breathing. He went so still, just staring at me.  
            "Thanks," Mark said, noticing nothing as he held out his phone to me. I took a step back, eyes on the screen as I held it up.  
            "Smile, Bucky," I whispered, and my own lips tilted upwards as I glanced up at him. He half-crouched to be on a level with Mark, and smiled. The camera flashed, and I held it back out to Mark without hearing his thanks. Bucky had straightened up, taking a hesitant step towards me.  
            "Beth—"  
            "I'm sorry," I blurted out.  
            "You ... what?"  
            "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I left, and I'm sorry I wasn't there, that I couldn't back you up, that I couldn't handle it—"  
            "Stop." I had to bite my tongue to stop the flow. " _I'm sorry_. I gaped at him.  
            "But you have _nothing_ to be sorry for."  
            "Yes I do. I really, really do. It was all my fault. You should never have gotten caught up in all this. So I'm sorry. I'm sorry you got taken, I'm sorry for everything they did to you. I'm sorry I watched, that I stood by and did nothing. I'm sorry for what you saw afterwards." He took a breath. "I'm sorry I didn't come and talk to you. I wanted to, to try and explain, but I didn't know if you... what you wanted. And I'm sorry that we came here today, with no warning, it wasn't fair, and I knew that, but I—"  
            "Enough," I cut him off, "I'm glad you're here."  
            "You.... are?" I smiled.  
            "We've both said sorry, let's leave it at that." He smiled tentatively back.  
            "Okay." We stared at each other for a second before I stepped forwards and hugged him. And if he returned the embrace with a fraction too much enthusiasm, it held far more joy than pain for me.  
            "I missed you," I breathed, and I felt him laugh.  
            "Yeah? I missed you too." I drew back, examining his face critically.  
            "Are you okay? I mean, how are you doing? Both of you?" He grinned even more broadly.  
            "There isn't really any more 'him and me'. Now, it's just... we." And though his eyes remained Bucky's, the smile he gave me was Puppet's.  
            "I'm happy for you," I murmured, then stepped back. "But I'm being selfish." I jerked my head to the side, towards the assembled veterans. "They're waiting."  
            "Are you..." Bucky's tone was tinged with worry as I pulled away, but I smiled at him.  
            "I'll still be here." He smiled tightly, then turned away, continuing his round of the hall. I backed away until I reached the wall, and sank down onto a bench to watch him. It didn't take long for another to join me.  
            "He's done well," Joey murmured as sat beside me. I glanced at him, watching his sharp eyes follow Bucky's movements.  
            "Joey," I said slowly, "do you remember when Bucky and I came to find you? After you left here?"  
            "At Sanctuary? Of course," he replied smoothly, without looking round at me.  
            "You said to me 'they will need you'. Who were you... I mean, Bucky and... Did you know?" Joey smiled without looking round.  
            "Didn't you? They were fighting each other so hard it was like they were going to rip apart. Now... they move in harmony. Did he ever choose a name for himself?" I stared at him for a moment.  
            "Puppet. He called himself Puppet." Joey actually snorted with laughter.  
            "Of course he did." He finally looked round at me. "So what now? Are you going to follow him off into the sunset?" I looked away, turning my eyes back to the man I'd bled for.  
            "No," I said, "I'm going to stay here. And if he ever needs someone to listen, or a place to hide, he'll know where to find me. He'll always have somewhere to run to."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is how I imagine Joey's version of The Parting Glass:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DEanA1rX-dI  
> (Also - Peter Hollens is amazing, check out some of his other stuff if you have time.)
> 
> ##### Author's Note
> 
> First of all, I want to say a big, big thank you to everyone who had read this fic. If you've been here since the beginning, if you joined half way through, or if you are reading this a year from now. Don't ever stop reading. Find more, find new, rediscover old, but don't ever stop. After all, no story lives unless someone wants to listen. So thank you for listening.  
> Yet another thank you to everyone who has left kudos, or bookmarked or subscribed to this fic, and especially to everyone who took the time to write a comment. They kept me going on all the bad days, lit up my life, and made sure I didn't give up. It is thanks to all of you that this work is now complete.  
> Looking to the future, my work is not yet done. I've got another fic in progress at the moment, for the Black Dagger Brotherhood fandom, and hopefully another one coming soon for Rise/Dawn of the Planet of the Apes.  
> Think that's all I have to say, so thanks again for reading. As always, kudos and comments are very much appreciated.
> 
> Note: See next chapter for sequel chatterings and explanation


	17. Announcement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *humming*

So. Some of you may or may not have seen the half-attempt at a sequel that's on here. It's not going anywhere. It was, but I don't much like it anymore, so basically, consider it, for all intents and purposes, scrapped. BUT, there is a reason for the title of this non-chapter. There is a new idea. And this one might actually work out. I'm combining it with another project I've wanted to write for a while, but not had the time or energy to do so. However, after a firm push from one of my very best friends in the world for a sequel to this, it's all starting to fall into place. So. I have told you, I have warned you... stay tuned for ' **Broken Crown** '.

(aka, go look on my profile page, it's on there for you to subscribe, follow or ignore.)

**Author's Note:**

> Credit to Marvel, and wherever else it is due.
> 
> By some miracle or mistake, I'm on Tumblr! You can message me there, or just sit back and laugh as I stumble my way through life...  
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/lmere19


End file.
